Here I Must Wait
by DawningStar
Summary: While Meru and the Dragoons fight their final battle, Guaraha and the elder Bardel take on their own nearly impossible task: uniting Humans and Winglies for a desperate bid at survival should the Dragoons fail... GuarahaMeru. Chapter six of six up.
1. For Love's Sake

Here I Must Wait, Part One: For Love's Sake 

Here I Must Wait   
by DawningStar 

Part One: For Love's Sake 

  
  


_My beloved marches to battle   
and here I must wait, alone...   
would that I were there!   
better to know the worst   
than to fear it.   
Yet for love's sake I remain.   
--Unknown poet of the Dragon Campaign era, works preserved in Ulara_

  


Seated at a bench, Guaraha watched his sole companion pace endlessly around the circular room. "You're making me dizzy," he complained for the hundredth time. "Do you mind stopping?" 

"Yes," the older Wingly snapped back. "Do you mind shutting up?" 

"Stop pacing and I will. I have just as much right to be annoying as you do." 

Pahlan Bardel, one of the few inhabitants of the Wingly Forest who could trace his family line back far enough to bother with a second name, snorted and ignored the comment--and continued to pace. 

Guaraha sighed. They'd been on probation for more than a week now, confined to the customary area for such things, with two more to go. Not for the first time, he wondered what Ancestor Blano had been thinking to put them together--surely one or the other's sentence could have been postponed. They were so completely different that neither could seem to find common ground, unless it was a sharp tongue. He'd learned a great many new insults, at any rate. Pity most of them had to do with liking people who liked humans. 

While Bardel was on probation for attacking the humans Ancestor Blano had welcomed, Guaraha was there for letting his self-exiled fiancée Meru in. He'd known the penalty and accepted it, but he hadn't counted on the company. 

He put up with the pacing for another ten minutes before asking again, "Would you _please_ sit down or something?" 

"No. I won't. Now leave me alone, tomato-brain." 

One hand went defensively to the bright red band that always held back his hair, unusual among the muted colors most Winglies preferred. "_That_ was low, Bardel. Can't you come up with a better insult? Anyway, you're one to talk--your head looks like an onion. Whatever possessed you to try that hairstyle?" 

It was a cheap shot, but the remarks had cut deeper than Guaraha wanted to admit. Anyway, it was accurate: the other probationer's silvery hair was swept back to a point high atop the head, at an angle Guaraha thought had to be held with magic, because it just didn't happen naturally. 

"I'm trying to think and you're distracting me," Bardel said pettishly. 

Guaraha blinked. This was new. "Do you want to talk about it?" he offered. 

"No." 

Leaning back in his chair, Guaraha shrugged. "Whatever. Pacing doesn't seem to be doing you much good, is all." 

There was a pause. Finally, Bardel retraced his steps and sank into the second chair. "You're right." 

"Well!" Guaraha sat up, grinning. "First time you've said that. What are you thinking about? The humans?" 

Dark eyes flashed with remembered anger and humiliation, but he shook his head slowly. "My brother." 

Pahlan's younger brother Sacan made the older sibling's hatred of humans look mild by comparison, and he had none of Pahlan's restraint. Various people in the village had commented on the relationship--Sacan had placed himself firmly in charge since the day their baby sister had left the Forest and been killed by humans. Pahlan was a force of reason on the younger Bardel. It was hard to say what he might do without that. 

Guaraha nodded. "You think he might get upset and--do something." 

"Yeah. Sacan, he...he doesn't always think clearly. He lets his anger control him. Sometimes I do too, ever since...you know...but not as much as he does." 

"The Ancestor knows your brother. I'm sure they're keeping an eye on him," Guaraha reassured. 

Pahlan sighed. "Trying to, you mean. Sacan's good at escaping notice. He and I both." 

As this was true, there was little Guaraha could say to it. Not many Winglies had the magic for self-teleportation anymore, but the Bardel brothers did. "Pahlan..." 

"If this is about the humans again, I don't want to hear it." 

Guaraha raised a hand in silent acknowledgement. The subject was hardly unfamiliar after two weeks, being their major point of contention. "If you think it would help, I'm sure the Ancestor would let you talk with Sacan." 

"He wouldn't listen." Pahlan looked away. "I failed to get rid of the blemish in our forest, the humans, the Dragoons--I couldn't even touch them. He said because I faltered. And...he was right: I don't know anymore whether it was even the right thing to do." 

"It's _never_ right to kill." 

The elder Bardel snorted. "You would say that. Your fiancée started this whole thing. But the point is, they should never have come in here." 

"No, I think the point is this irrational hatred you and your brother have of humans." 

"_Irrational_?!" Pahlan jerked upright, staring furiously at Guaraha. "You know what they did! They murdered my sister!" 

Leaning forward in his chair, Guaraha returned the gaze intently. "You can't blame the entire race for the actions of a few. Winglies don't exactly have a spotless reputation either, you know, and your attitude isn't helping any." 

"They murdered her, killed my Tiala, and it was _your_ fiancée's fault," spat Pahlan. "You're just trying to protect her, aren't you?" 

"Meru never encouraged Tiala to follow her," Guaraha protested. "She wanted your sister safe as much as anyone. It was a terrible tragedy, but it was no one's fault!" 

Pahlan Bardel spun away, his breathing fast and angry. "Give it up, Guaraha! You're an idiot if you think she's coming back to you, anyway. You heard her say how much she likes those new friends of hers. She's abandoned you and you're too stubborn to admit it!" 

The words cut deep, echoing his own fears, and Guaraha found his eyes drifting toward the single door. Right there, Meru had introduced him to the humans as her 'friend', when they'd been pledged to marry for more than four years...was that all she thought of him, now? 

But he dragged his thoughts away from that, and back to the bitter Wingly across from him. "I believe Meru will keep her promises," he forced from a suddenly tightened throat. "If not--it's her decision. You're slipping, Bardel. Can't you come up with anything better than personal attacks?" 

Pahlan didn't answer, face turned resolutely toward the wall. Conceding defeat for the moment, Guaraha stood to signal for their dinner through the small kitchen-linked teleporter on the table. 

"We went after her, you know," Pahlan said in a muffled voice, and Guaraha froze. 

The stone-edged face was buried in trembling hands, and something in Pahlan's tone told Guaraha he was fighting tears. The younger Wingly silently resumed his seat, and waited for Pahlan to continue. 

"We didn't want to think that was where she had gone, but when she was nowhere in the Forest we asked the Ancestor for permission to search...it was only the three of us, ever since our parents died, and Tiala was everything to us. He granted it, and we went after her. She must have...must have tried to follow Meru and gotten lost...we weren't fast enough...Tiala always could go faster then we could in straight flight, and we didn't know where to teleport. We traced her to the south, and we found her--too late..." Pahlan shook his head once, violently. "They must have found out what she was--and she couldn't protect herself, she wouldn't have used magic even if she could, and they...she was...they'd butchered her! Her hair, her wings..." 

Guaraha remembered Tiala, a sweet girl years younger than Meru with magic powers surprisingly small considering her heritage--the Bardels had always been proud of their powers, among the strongest in the Forest. Their mother had died at Tiala's birth, however, and their father not long after, succumbing to illness and grief. The child had become the center of the Bardel brothers' lives despite her lack of special ability--until the tragedy struck. Just thinking of such a thing happening to her was unbearable. To have seen the results... 

Tentatively, Guaraha rested a hand on the rigid shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said softly. He'd known generally what had happened--who hadn't?--but the brothers had told no one more than that they'd found the child dead. 

"Don't be," Pahlan snapped harshly. "It won't bring her back." 

"Neither will killing others," he pointed out. "Or blaming Meru for it." 

But the other had gone silent again. Guaraha moved away to allow him what privacy there was. 

About two hours later, the entrance glowed with its signal that someone was entering. Guaraha looked up, startled. Not many people visited the probationers--it wasn't forbidden, exactly, but it wasn't customary. 

The identity of the visitor made it all the more surprising. Ancestor Blano came in, his face somber. _Something bad has happened,_ Guaraha thought, and hoped fervently that it had nothing to do with Meru. 

"Pahlan, your brother is dead," the Ancestor said gravely. "I'm sorry. We tried to watch him, but you were right..." 

Guaraha winced. As hate-filled and hotheaded as Sacan had been, he was also Pahlan Bardel's only remaining family, and he wouldn't wish that loss on anyone. 

"The Dragoons--!" Pahlan had shot up from his seat, fists clenched tightly in fury. 

"_No_," Blano interrupted firmly. "The Dragoons didn't kill Sacan. When he was reported missing, I searched for him from the tower. I was too late to do anything, but I felt him die. It wasn't Dragoon magic." 

For an instant Guaraha thought his companion was actually going to challenge the Ancestor's word. "But who else could have...?" Pahlan started. 

"It was Wingly magic, far stronger than yours or your brother's," the Ancestor said. "I don't know who." 

Pahlan stared, bewildered, his hands falling back slightly. "A...Wingly?" 

Ancestor Blano nodded. 

Frowning, Guaraha went over the short list of possibilities. No one in the Wingly Forest save Ancestor Blano himself was that much stronger than the Bardel brothers, and while he might have acted to stop an attack he would never lie about it. Which meant it had to have been someone from outside the Forest. Other communities of Winglies? He supposed it was possible, though he'd never really considered it. He turned a little anxiously to see how this news had affected Pahlan. 

The older Wingly was expressionless, his dark eyes vacant. "Thank you for telling me," he told the Ancestor stiffly. 

Blano just looked at Pahlan sadly, before turning to Guaraha. "I've extended your probation period," he said. "I know you meant well, coming to help us send the humans off to Deningrad, but it _was_ breaking sentence. An extra week will do." 

Guaraha opened his mouth to protest, but caught the Ancestor's meaningful glance at the other probationer. Pahlan's sentence had started later than his own--he had another three weeks to go, while Guaraha had only two without the extension. 

_He wants me to watch Pahlan. To make sure he's all right._ And Guaraha had to admit that a week alone might well send the last of the Bardel family into a fatal depression. "Yes, Ancestor," he agreed, taking care to put enough sullenness in his voice to hide the deception from Pahlan. 

Ancestor Blano's eyes rested for a moment on Guaraha, and he offered the faintest of proud smiles. The next instant he had teleported out. 

With a sigh, Guaraha sat back down. He had a feeling the next few weeks wouldn't be pleasant. 

* * *

Pleasant they were not, but even Guaraha could see that the time had done a great deal of good for the prejudiced Wingly. Constant contact with someone and a lack of any other activity led to a lot of conversations--most of which ended in shouting matches, but Guaraha knew when it was better to shut up and just listen. By the end, the two were...not friends, precisely, but no longer total opposites. 

Ancestor Blano brought Guaraha regular reports of events that might involve his wandering fiancée, and they grew steadily more worrying. The flare of magic from ancient Aglis had shaken them even here...there were legends, half-forgotten, concerning such sealing magics. Whatever was going on, it was certain the Dragoons would be involved. And Meru with them. 

The night before their release, Guaraha stood at the single small window in a far corner of the room, staring outward. His hands gripped the sill, white with the pressure. _Let her be all right,_ he prayed, uncertain who he addressed. _Let her come back to me._

Pahlan watched, silent for once. Sacan's death had forced him to rethink everything, and now he wondered if blaming Meru in the first place...no, he knew they were wrong. Blame had been easier than acceptance. As for the humans, he could never forgive the murderers, but perhaps Guaraha had a point and not all were alike. 

He didn't think he'd ever be able to look at either Meru or a human without remembering his sister's shattered form, but the overwhelming anger had faded. Now he watched his companion's vigil, and saw in it an unconditional love one couldn't help but respect. 

_Come back, Meru,_ he thought, at last releasing his grasp on the last traces of hatred. _For Guaraha's sake. And I--I need to tell you I no longer hold you responsible for Tiala's death._

Just then, Pahlan caught the ambiance of the long-range teleporter activating, and sat up, frowning. No one had any reason to leave as far as he knew...but who would come in that way? Surely not from Kadessa, and what other teleporter could still be active? 

"That's the teleporter," Guaraha said uneasily. Pahlan looked over in mild surprise. Guaraha had very little magic, and wasn't usually sensitive to changes in the atmosphere. Evidently he had been paying closer attention than normal. "But who--?" 

"Maybe it's Meru," suggested Pahlan, joining the younger Wingly at the window. "They might have found one that still works." 

Guaraha shook his head. "I hope so...but...I can't feel her. And I think I would." 

Probably true, Pahlan admitted. Even the weakest Winglies had some ability to feel the minds of others, particularly those they had a strong emotional attachment to. He'd never bothered much with the skill himself. 

He leaned partway out the window--uselessly, as it faced out the back of the village, being for fresh air and not a view. A faint, unintelligible babble of voices reached his ears, agitated but not panicked. "Well, it doesn't seem to be anything bad, at least. I'm sure they'll tell us later." 

"I'll be _so_ glad to get out of here," Guaraha muttered. "I hate not knowing things." 

"Can't argue with you." Pahlan let out a sigh. "Tomorrow." 

The door hummed, and both probationers turned toward it expectantly. The green glow deposited Ancestor Blano and an unfamiliar Wingly woman in a long white dress, garments that looked even more old-fashioned than the usual wear in the Forest. "--can't come out yet," the Ancestor was saying as the light faded. 

"Then I will speak with him here," the woman informed him. She smiled at Guaraha. "You must be Guaraha--Meru described you very well. My name is Caron." 

"You've seen Meru? Is she all right?" Guaraha demanded anxiously, too concerned to be polite. 

Caron nodded. "Meru was fine when I saw her, a few weeks ago. She asked that I bring word to her village if I could, and a message for you especially." 

"Perhaps the general details first," Blano suggested. "Personal messages should be told in private." 

Guaraha shook his head quickly. "That doesn't matter. Please, Ancestor, I--I just want to know." 

A pleased smile tugged at the stranger's mouth. "Your concern is commendable, but the messages will make more sense if they are delivered in order. First, then: I tend the teleporters of Ulara the Spring Breath City, an ancient stronghold in the western deserts held out of time by magic. We were the moderate Winglies of the Dragon Campaign, allies of the humans though never quite trusted--Charle Frahma leads us. When it ended, like you we thought it best to seal ourselves away. For eleven thousand years, though, we have protected the world against a worse danger than that which the humans defeated..." 

A twisting sensation grew in Guaraha's heart as Caron explained what the destruction of the signet spheres could mean. Meru, fighting something powerful enough to end the world..._I should have gone with her, I should be there to help her!_ he thought furiously, forgetting momentarily that if the Dragoons were unable to defeat something a lone low-magic Wingly wasn't likely to help them any. 

He glanced up, to find Caron's deep magenta eyes resting compassionately on him. "To you, Guaraha, Meru requested I say only that she will return to you if she can." Caron paused a moment before adding, "She loves you, you know." 

Something snapped, and a warmth that felt suspiciously like tears rose behind his eyes. He looked away, unable to meet that penetrating gaze. 

"And to you, Ancestor Blano. Meru asks if the end of the world is time enough to open your forest." She smiled. "A very outspoken child--we have stagnated in Ulara, I fear. But she is right. If they should fail, we are the only hope for the world...all of us together must fight, not Winglies alone, nor humans, nor any other single species...or we are doomed." 

The Ancestor didn't reply for a long moment, and his face was troubled. "You're right," he said at last. "You're right--but whether we can accept that, or not....we are not so isolated here as you are, and there have been contacts with humans. Many of them unpleasant." 

"Ancestor," Pahlan interjected diffidently, "we all know the old legends, if a bit inaccurately. Even I wouldn't object to joining the humans in this." 

Blano smiled slowly. "If you say so, Pahlan, perhaps it is time. But, Caron, you must understand that there have been many generations here, and I am the only one left who remembers Wingly power. I've kept myself alive, afraid, I suppose, of what the less patient of us might be tempted into--but our magic here is not as strong as yours. We were refugees from the war, commoners, many of us barely above the line for magic power even then." 

"That I do know," Caron agreed. "Meru told me some history of your community. You have done well. We were remiss not to seek out other groups of survivors, but I fear our other duties took precedence. And after a while...timelessness has its effects. You have probably noticed them in yourself." 

"Yes," the Ancestor sighed, and Guaraha was startled to hear a vast weariness in the single word. "But we can discuss this in more detail in my tower, if there is no other news Guaraha should hear." 

"Very well." At a gesture, Caron preceded Ancestor Blano out. 

Guaraha stared curiously at Pahlan, once the hum of the teleporter had faded. "You don't object?" 

He shrugged. "If the world's ending, we have nothing to lose, do we?" 

"I'd've thought you'd be more suspicious of a stranger." 

Pahlan shook his head slowly. "The Signet Spheres...I felt the one break. Same as when the Dragon attacked the Crystal Palace, though I didn't know what it was then, of course. No, she's telling the truth." 

"You've changed," Guaraha observed. "Used to be you'd turn back-flips to avoid admitting anything you didn't want to. I think I like it." 

The older Wingly snorted softly and cast about for something to change the subject. "You never have told me why you wear that headband. Not exactly standard." 

A hand went automatically to the cherry-red band. "It was a gift from Meru, before we were engaged," said Guaraha. "She always did think gray and white were boring. What about your hair?" 

"Sacan's idea," Pahlan replied absently. "Something about it being the way the old Wingly warriors wore it. You were right, it does look a bit like an onion, but he'd never hear of changing it." 

"You could change it--now," Guaraha pointed out, his tone gentle. 

"I could," agreed Pahlan. "But...not yet. He hated everything and I don't doubt he was trying to do something against humans when he was killed, but he was still my brother. It feels...wrong." 

Guaraha nodded and didn't press the matter. His thoughts drifted toward what might happen after they were let out tomorrow--Pahlan was far different now than he had been three weeks ago, but not so much so that he didn't stand a good chance of falling back into bad habits if abandoned. Sacan Bardel might have been the most rabid anti-human in the Forest, but he was not by any means the only one. 

_I have to stick with him. If he goes back to his hatred, chances are good he'll end up like his brother._ Pahlan still wasn't a friend, quite, but Guaraha was faintly startled to find that he cared enough about the other Wingly to be deeply distressed at the thought of anything like that happening. 

But there was time enough for that and more tomorrow. Guaraha heaved a sigh, wondering what Ancestor Blano and Caron would decide. Something had to be done, obviously, but how much the village would accept...well, the Ancestor would know that. _None of my business, anyway..._

* * *

"_Guaraha!_" 

He rolled sleepily toward the source of the noise, blinking up at Meru's mother, Kairu. Still a lovely Wingly despite the faded sheen of her white hair, and with impeccable manners to match, she was beckoning him urgently over to the door. Guaraha glanced across the room, to find Pahlan still soundly asleep and snoring. 

Well, their sentence was ended, so there was nothing to prevent his leaving...Guaraha moved lightly to the portal, trying to force his sleep-fogged brain to remember last night's events. "They've decided something, have they?" he asked quietly. 

She nodded and pushed him outside. "I don't want to wake Pahlan yet," she murmured in explanation. "I don't think he's going to be happy." 

"What's the plan, then?" 

Kairu looked at him a little apprehensively. "Well...the nearest place with the strongest remaining ambient magic, that we would be most likely to hold if worse came to worst, it's the Crystal Palace. But it was damaged in the Divine Dragon's attack. So...the Ancestor thinks we should offer to help rebuild it. It'll take a lot of diplomacy from someone with no ill will against humans, with a personal reason for wanting things to work out...and it'll take someone with a lot of magical power." 

She could _not_ be saying what he thought she was saying. "Wait a second. Ancestor Blano wants _me_ to go? And...?" 

"That's right. You in charge. And Pahlan as support. A few others, too, of course." 

He straightened his headband nervously. "I don't know if I can do this..." 

Kairu smiled at him. "Of course you can. It's for Meru." 

Guaraha froze. "That is unfair. You can't use my feelings against me that way," he protested weakly. 

"I'm not trying to use your feelings against you. But you should use them to help you, Guaraha. They may give you an advantage--and we'll need all the advantage we can get. Besides, it's perfectly true." 

"Well, maybe so, but still." 

She looked at him, amused. "Oh, all right. I won't bring up your feelings toward my daughter again, if you insist." 

Glancing up apologetically, he explained, "It's just that I'm worried about her. And really, nothing I do _can_ help her." 

"And I'm sure you've had to put up with enough teasing," Kairu added. "Blano says Bardel's improved, though--has he?" 

Guaraha surprised himself with the force of his nod. "He's much better about that kind of thing than he was before. I don't know about going to a human city with him, but...it may be all right. The Ancestor knows best, surely." 

"Well, maybe I'd better let you break it to him, then--unless you want to wait for Ancestor Blano. He should be here soon." With a wave, Meru's mother lit her wings and lightly flew across the gap toward her own house. 

Shaking his head, Guaraha returned to the probation room. He had no intention of waking Pahlan--the older Wingly was definitely not a morning person, as he'd found over the past few weeks--but there was little point in going home if he would only be setting off again shortly. He had everything he might need to take already packed, in preparation for leaving probation. 

It was only a few minutes before Blano entered, with a questioning glance at Pahlan. Guaraha jumped to his feet. "Ah, Kairu was just here, but Pahlan's not awake yet," he informed the Ancestor. 

"I'm up now," the other muttered, waving a limp hand. "Sorry, Ancestor--give me a minute..." 

"Certainly, Pahlan. My apologies for disturbing you, but I do need to speak with you." Blano looked back at Guaraha. "Perhaps you would prefer leaving for a moment?" 

It might have been phrased as a question, but Guaraha knew a command when he heard it. He stepped out the door again, leaned against a wall, and waited. 

The inevitable explosion came about a minute later, Pahlan's ear-shattering yelp of shock and dismay. "I will _not_ do that!" the last Bardel shouted, clearly audible even through the living wood of the walls. "You want us to, to _grovel_--for _humans_--we're Winglies! We don't--" 

Whatever the Ancestor replied was too muffled to understand, but in the level, unshakably calm tone Guaraha had always hated. Pahlan would agree in the end, he knew; Ancestor Blano could convince anyone of just about anything. The question was how long it would take--and how angry Pahlan would be afterward. Guaraha didn't look forward to spending weeks in a human city with a resentful assistant. 

Neither of them had a choice, though, really. It was cooperate or be destroyed, unless by some miracle the Dragoons managed--_No!_ Guaraha interrupted himself. _I can't think that way. They'll win. Meru will be fine._ It was just better to be prepared. And maybe this would bring humans and Winglies together a bit; the prejudice did no one any good. 

The noise level inside rose again, and Guaraha decided he would really rather be elsewhere. The few details Caron had given did not come close to satisfying his curiosity, for one thing, and he wondered if she would be willing to explain further. And it would probably be a good idea to find out who else exactly he was expected to take on this reconstruction trip. 

* * *

Caron, several people informed Guaraha, had spent the night in one of the empty rooms in the upper part of the village. She was currently in the Ancestor's tower, probably inspecting the teleporter, one person surmised. 

He opted for simply flying up to the teleporter platform rather than trespassing in the Tower. Sure enough, Caron was there, leaning over the glowing apparatus, appearing so absorbed that Guaraha hesitated to disturb her. 

But the visitor looked up at once as he approached, with a welcoming smile. "I wondered if I might see you today," she said. "You'll be wanting to know more about how Meru was, won't you?" 

"Am I that obvious?" Guaraha asked, feeling faintly sheepish. "Yes, I--I'd like to know more, if you don't mind too much." 

"Not at all." Caron hesitated for a moment, waved a hand toward the teleporter. "I was just looking at this. It's a bit different from the ones we have--there are some improvements, actually. This one is more efficient. Necessary, I suppose, for your people to be able to use it." 

Guaraha nodded. "I don't know much about it, but I think Ancestor Blano adapted it. Other things, too. We never had a lot of magic to spare to begin with, and the levels went down in each generation." 

She let out a sigh. "We were among the elite, so there was magic enough to hold our community in time...time does not move in Ulara, not for us. Sometimes I wonder if that was the right choice--but yes, even for us the magic fades. Much of it was never ours to begin with, you know." 

"Yes, the Ancestor's told us. Melbu Frahma tapped into a crystal of limitless power, which was broken in the human uprising, leading to a slow sapping of Wingly magic," Guaraha recited. "I'd always wondered where the crystal came from, if it wasn't ours. Never expected anything like--like that, though." 

Caron smiled slightly. "The trapped soul of the God of Destruction does stretch belief a little, yes." She turned away from the teleporter. "But you wanted to speak of Meru." 

Guaraha waited, allowing the other to gather her thoughts, and presently Caron continued, "I told you earlier that we had worked for eleven thousand years to prevent the birth of the God of Destruction. One of the Dragoons assisted us in that, one of the original human warriors whom we supported, and like us she has lived the long years untouched by time. Rose--you met her--brought her new companions to Ulara, knowing that we could, we must help them now." 

Remembering the lovely, dark-haired human, Guaraha couldn't stifle a noise of shock. Eleven thousand years old? Though he had no skill in measuring human age, certainly she hadn't looked much older than her companions. 

Caron glanced ruefully at him in understanding. "No, one doesn't think it, to look at her. However, the bulk of our task has been on her--like you, we prefer not to leave our sanctuary. There are so few of us left." She sighed, a faintly regretful sound. "Not enough, I fear...even Ulara cannot hold back time forever, and then the world will have seen the last of the Winglies." 

She shook her head. "I am sorry. Sidetracked again. The young Dragoons stayed the night in Ulara, before we sent them off to find Aglis. I had gone to the human kingdom of Tiberoa some time before to seek help from them, and they cooperated in hastening the journey--though they were startled to find that Winglies still existed, they accepted that we wished only to help." 

"I may need some advice from you on that, too," Guaraha muttered, and immediately glanced apology for the interruption. 

"As far as diplomacy goes, I have every confidence you will manage as well as I," Caron said dryly. "You are, at least, rather less set in your ways. But in any case--during the brief time the Dragoons were in Ulara, Meru spent several hours talking with me. Among other things, we discussed variations in teleporters, the wisdom of remaining isolated, and relationships--that seemed very strange to me. There have been no children, no young people in Ulara for a very long time." 

Guaraha blinked in mild surprise. "None?" 

Caron shrugged. "Oh, there were at first, but later...as I said, the magic used to extend time has certain effects. A lack of--not emotion, precisely, but the ability to care deeply about anything. Our task is all that matters to us now." She looked at Guaraha, and added in a low, fervent tone, "I hope you need never experience it. Despite what some may think, simply _living_ isn't worth--that. Your Meru was a breath of fresh air for me." 

He shivered at the thought of the long years, empty of everything save the grim resolution to keep the world from falling to destruction and death... "I hope so, too." 

There was a long, uneasy pause before Caron shifted slightly. "Well!" she said in a brighter tone. "I don't know how I keep getting off the subject like this--I _am_ sorry, Guaraha. There was really very little distressing about my discussion with Meru." 

The dignified Wingly then delivered an account of the Dragoons' adventures in a style and intonation very like Meru's, enough so to be almost word-for-word what the spirited girl had said. It succeeded in cheering Guaraha immensely, though he could never forget the danger his fiancée was be in. 

Caron was just winding up the tale when an excited voice interrupted them. "Guaraha! There you are!" 

He looked up, startled, to see Rienna approaching swiftly, with the pulsing sound the glowing wings made when active. Only a bit younger than Meru, Rienna was somewhat more timid but of much the same opinion as far as opening the Forest went--particularly now she had met humans, and found them rather less terrible than some had suggested. She had long considered following Meru into the human world, but decided instead to marry her fiancé, Lanar, as they had just reached the traditional period of two years of betrothal. 

Guaraha admitted, in his more candid moments, that he was a bit jealous of Lanar for that. Not that he would have traded Meru's spirit and sense of humor for anything, but--it was hard, waiting, particularly when he could never be quite sure Meru intended to come back at all. Their own engagement had lasted four years so far. 

Rienna was about average in magical power, but she had a fine sense of control that more than made up for it, and a special talent for helping to focus others' powers into a single spell. Her husband was stronger, though not on the same level as Pahlan. It was, therefore, not hard to guess her probable reason for coming. 

"Kairu told me I should come find you," Rienna said, confirming his suspicions. "Ancestor Blano just asked Lanar and me if we'd go on this expedition to help the humans rebuild their Crystal Palace." 

"Right," Guaraha nodded. "Are you coming?" 

She grinned. "Of course! The day the Ancestor asks me to do something I've been wanting to do for years--wouldn't miss it!" 

"Have you heard who else has agreed?" 

"Let's see," Rienna mused. "He asked Prado, I think, just because he's powerful enough and I don't think the Ancestor wanted to insult him by not offering, but Prado refused, of course. That one's almost as bad as the Bardels were, and for no reason I can see. Then there's Niama, Kedim, and Halin. Kedim's going because Niama's going and you know she can't refuse a challenge, but I'm not sure why Halin's going. And Pahlan Bardel actually said he'd come!" 

"The Ancestor could talk a stone into floating without using a bit of magic," Guaraha said ruefully. "That's a good group. No one else?" The three she had mentioned were all among the most powerful in the village, young enough to accept the undertaking, and none had a reputation for being overly prejudiced or argumentative, though Halin's agreement was rather curious; he had often hung around the edges of Sacan's group of friends, which had included the highly rebellious Prado. He'd have to keep an eye on the younger Wingly. 

Rienna tilted her head thoughtfully. "I believe the Ancestor was talking to Veria about it. I didn't really hear that bit, though, Lanar and I had to go get packed, and then I came here." 

Guaraha frowned. "Veria? Why?" The quiet, diminutive girl had barely any magic to speak of. 

She laughed. "Why do you think? Veria's practically an encyclopedia on how the ancients built their cities, especially the crystal. She's spent enough time studying the Ancestor's records." 

"Ah. Good point." Veria was also, Guaraha remembered, the only real telepath in the village, though her use of the talent was so seldom that most people forgot it. That, too, would be very helpful on a diplomatic mission. 

Caron raised a hand slightly at this in polite interruption. "Do you know where I might find this Veria? I had intended to give Guaraha what information I have on the old processes, but if she already has some background in it, perhaps you would be better served if I spoke with her." 

"Probably so," Guaraha agreed. "I'm not great on history or magical theory either one. Actually, Rienna, you're probably the one who's going to need to know most of this--would you mind going along and listening?" 

She flashed a cheerful grin. "Was just about to ask if I could." Turning to Caron with a faint, deferential curtsy, she added, "I can show you where she was, my lady." 

"Just Caron, please," the ancient Wingly laughed as she lit her wings. "No one in Ulara bothers with titles anymore, so why should I insist on them from you?" 

Rienna brightened visibly at this, and followed suit. "Pahlan's down at his home if you want to talk to him," she called back. "The Ancestor said to meet at the forest entrance in a little while." 

Talking with Pahlan after the drawn-out argument Ancestor Blano had doubtless put him through was not high on Guaraha's list of preferred things to do. Still, Rienna was right; it had to be done. Guaraha channeled a trickle of magic through his wings and lifted from the platform, down to the lower levels, the older section where the Bardels' ancestral home was. It took him a long moment to stiffen his resolve before he could make himself step into the entrance teleporter. 

As the green light cleared, Guaraha saw at a glance that the home was basically the same as his own--the curved walls mandated by the trees, a few lights, the commonly used table. The taste in decoration was unusual but not really surprising, archaic weapons and fragmentary artwork depicting occasionally gruesome scenes of Wingly power displayed on most surfaces. What he had not expected was the incongruously cheerful dashes of color about the room. A childish drawing hung in pride of place, and bright cushions and fabrics draped the few seats. This, Guaraha surmised, was all that remained of Tiala's influence. 

Pahlan came out of a bedroom door at the sound of the teleporter, his face set into defensive lines that faded only slightly at seeing who had entered. "You need something?" he snapped. 

Guaraha shrugged. "I just wondered if you needed any help getting ready to leave. And I wanted to say thanks for coming along. I'm going to need you." 

"Yes, Ancestor Blano made that quite clear," Pahlan muttered. "I still think someone else would be a better choice. Humans--I don't know if I can handle this, Guaraha..." For an instant, the shield dropped, and Guaraha saw the turmoil of fear and doubt in the older Wingly's eyes. 

"I know what you mean," he sighed. "I'm not ready for this, either. But it's our only chance." 

A skeptical snort, and Pahlan turned away before Guaraha could see whether his expression echoed the tone. "Not much of a chance. Forgotten skills and a half-destroyed building. If the humans will even let us in. Wouldn't be surprised if they decide we're a danger and kill us off." 

"We gave them our help," Guaraha reminded. "We let them take the Dragon Block Staff. They have to listen to us." 

Pahlan didn't respond, swinging a brown pack across his shoulder and checking the strap. "Are we leaving now?" he inquired. 

Guaraha silently marked that exchange a draw. "It should only be a few minutes. I just need to make sure everyone else is ready and pick up my stuff. We're meeting by the forest seal." 

"Well, let's go, then." Pahlan gestured impatiently toward the entrance. Guaraha obliged, taking a step backward into the green light. 

* * *

A few minutes later, Guaraha closed his eyes momentarily in exasperation at the scene before him. Rianna, Lanar, and Halin hadn't arrived yet, but already the bags prepared held considerably more than their owners could possibly carry on the long flight to Deningrad, and very little of it really looked necessary. 

"Veria, why are all these papers in your pack?" he demanded of the youngest of the group, whose bundle was obviously heaviest. 

She shrugged helplessly at him. "Much as I've tried, I don't know everything by heart. I think we might need to know how to re-tune the crystals, don't you?" 

Guaraha conceded the point. "You can't fly with all that, surely." 

Veria hefted her sack, face set. "Sure I can." 

"No, Veria. It's too far." He swung his own bag to the ground. "Move some of the notes to mine." 

As she complied, Guaraha turned his attention to Niama and Kedim, both of whom bore hopelessly overstuffed bags, bright fabrics peeking out of the seams. "And what, exactly, are you two bringing fifteen outfits apiece for?" 

Niama smirked at him. "Have to make a good impression on the humans, don't we?" she asked innocently. 

Raising an already weary hand to his eyes, Guaraha shook his head. "The real reason, if you please, Niama," he requested. 

She gave a gusty breath. "Oh, all right, so we kinda wanted to see if we could trade some of our stuff for human stuff. C'mon, Guaraha, this might be our only chance to pick up human clothes!" 

He stared disbelievingly, turning to Kedim in hope of some more comprehensible explanation. The tall boy grinned. "You know Niama," he offered. "No such thing as too many outfits." 

"Fine. I give up," Guaraha muttered. "If you collapse halfway there, it's not my fault." 

"It isn't really all that heavy," Niama assured him more seriously. "Bulky, is all. We'll manage." 

Guaraha looked about for any sign of the three remaining members of the party, and his mood ebbed a little more at what he saw: they were approaching at a good rate, but Rienna was glaring daggers at Halin, and Lanar didn't look much happier. _At least their packs seem a good size,_ he thought hopefully. 

Rienna landed and spun at once to face him. "_Tell_ him he can't take all those!" she ordered angrily. 

"All what?" Guaraha asked, feeling his patience severely strained. "He hasn't packed nearly as much useless stuff as Niama and Kedim there." 

The girl waved an angry hand. "Not packing--_those_!" 

Examining the shorter Wingly, Guaraha blinked in shock. The knives which Rienna's fierce look had brought to mind were evidently quite real, and hung strapped to various locations in Halin's clothing. He counted at least four in holsters on the belt, while others were less evident but still clearly visible. "Halin, you really shouldn't have those," he said in disapproval. "It's a diplomatic mission--we need their help. You'll make them think we're attacking or something." 

"That's what _I_ said," Rienna put in. 

Halin shifted uncomfortably, his crimson eyes locked somewhere on the dirt. "They were all the weapons I could find," he mumbled. "You can't expect me to go unarmed." 

"You don't see anyone else with a weapon, do you?" Guaraha challenged. "Not even Veria--and she'd have best claim to one. Halin, you have a good amount of magic, and the humans are already going to be pretty wary around you just because you can fly. Don't make it worse. Leave your knives here, please." 

He muttered something inaudible but probably uncomplimentary, and began to remove the stashed weapons, dropping them to the ground. 

After the first fifteen, Guaraha began to rethink the wisdom of taking him along at all--but they would need his help. Finally, the heap on the path reaching mountainous proportions, Halin stopped, a hand hovering protectively over the one knife that remained at his belt. "I need some kind of non-magic defense," he half-pleaded. 

Guaraha hesitated. "Oh, all right," he agreed. "But you're not to use it unless your life is in very clear danger, you understand?" 

Halin nodded, and promised, "I won't cause any trouble." 

The piled daggers were all of approximately the same design, slightly curved, razor-sharp blades within sturdy leather sheaths; they were the kind used by the hunters, Guaraha realized, and had probably been taken from the kitchens--with or without permission. "We need to return those before we leave," he pointed out. 

"I'll do it," Rienna offered quickly, her usual cheer returning. "Come on, Lanar, help me carry them." 

"You needn't," came Blano's voice from behind them, and Guaraha turned in faint surprise to see Caron and the Ancestor approaching. "I can take care of that for you. Your mission is more important." 

Caron smiled at them all. "I would go with you, but Charle requested that I return to Ulara as soon as I could," she apologized. "I hope to come back later." 

"We'll appreciate any time you can spare," Guaraha responded politely. 

"Now, Guaraha, Deningrad is west of here," the Ancestor directed. "I don't know for certain how much damage the Divine Dragon's attack did, but if there's any hope of repair you'll see the city from some distance off because of the crystals. Queen Theresa is, or was, the ruler, with the four Sacred Sisters next in rank." 

"Do not flaunt your powers," Caron put in. "Humans may become hostile when confronted with things they cannot understand." 

Ancestor Blano glanced around the assembly. "You are representing the Forest and all peaceful Winglies," he said gravely. "Remember that, and act accordingly. I expect you to listen to Guaraha just as though it were I leading you." 

Guaraha shifted somewhat nervously at this, but no one seemed to notice. Blano raised a hand, light gathering about it, and with a flicker the seal on the forest faded. The eight lit their wings. 

Few Winglies were in view as they left, the majority of the village not entirely certain whether they supported the undertaking or not. However, Meru's parents and a few close friends of various members of the group had gathered not far from the seal, waving and calling assorted good wishes. Girls of Niama's age held the majority, and Guaraha found their comments particularly amusing, these being mostly reminders to 'bring back some clothes for us!' 

Another face in the group, however, drew his attention for a different reason. Prado stared silently after Halin and Pahlan, something in his expression indicating deep displeasure. 

Forcing the misgivings out of his mind, Guaraha channeled a bit more magic through his wings and led his delegation out of the Wingly Forest, into the unknown human world. _Well, Meru,_ he thought, _I'm doing what you wanted and coming out..._

_...Please, make all of this unnecessary. Be safe._

* * *

  


Notes: Yeah, yeah, this is a little odd. So I felt sorry for Bardel. (The first names are my own invention, by the way.) 

If you're still reading this thing, I'm going to assume I did a passable job despite the fact that this is my first LoD fic. Please review? There are about three more parts coming eventually, and I need some feedback. This is still kinda a rough draft and can certainly be changed. 

And--if anyone knows a message board or similar community for LoD ficwriters, I'd be happy to learn its location. I've been looking and can't find much. 

No idea when the next part will be out. It may depend on how much inspiration I get from reviews...I tend to write very slowly, unfortunately. 

~*~DawningStar 


	2. Last Defense

Here I Must Wait, Part Two: Last Defense 

Here I Must Wait   
by DawningStar 

Part Two: Last Defense 

  
  


_When the warriors have gone to the battle, those left behind have a choice: to wait with decaying hope, or to prepare their own last defense. The wise choose the latter. Better to stand and fight at the end than to cower helpless before the storm. _   
--Emperor Diaz, Human leader of the Dragon Campaign era, in a speech to the noncombatants of Gloriano; record preserved in Ulara 

  


The long miles passed beneath them in uneasy silence, Evergreen Forest trailing off to the even less familiar plains to the west. Pahlan had taken the lead, he being the only one who had ever left the forest before and thus had any semblance of knowledge of the territory. Rienna and Veria hung farthest back, but both bore grim, determined expressions proclaiming trouble for anyone who tried suggesting they needed to slow down. 

A glimmer of reflected light became visible on the horizon, and Pahlan dropped back to fly beside Guaraha. "That'll be Deningrad," he reported, indicating it. "I've never been near it, but the crystal's unmistakable." 

"All right." Guaraha raised his voice a bit. "We'll land and walk in once it's a little closer, before anyone sees us. No point asking for trouble. And don't forget--let's try not to offend anyone. As formal as possible, please." There was no response but silent nods, tense and subdued. 

The city came more clearly into view within a few minutes, and they landed, the pulsing sound of their wings fading into a silence broken only by the somehow ominous crunch of gravel and grass underfoot. Guaraha began to walk, and the rest followed. 

Deningrad bore obvious signs of the dragon's attack, huge boulders lying fragmented in the streets and splinters of crystal scattered everywhere. Some efforts at rebuilding had begun, rubble cleared and new walls taking shape, but it was clear that lifetimes would pass before the city regained the splendor still visible in what remained. 

The Winglies' unusual clothes and coloring began to draw curious, not-altogether-friendly stares the moment they entered the city, and Guaraha felt his group pull together in self-conscious reaction. Halin's hand drifted toward his dagger, pausing only by effort of will. 

Oddly, it was Veria, now walking just beside Guaraha, who seemed least affected by the strange surroundings and the large numbers of Humans. The girl focused solely on the glistening shards, her deep red eyes flicking about in avid interest. "It's a pity we've forgotten so much," she commented softly. "Our own fault we lost it all, of course, but--to be able to build something like that!" She nodded toward the spire of the Crystal Palace, still rising in sunlit splendor above the city despite the collapse of the highest points. 

"Well, you'll get a chance to rebuild it, at least," Guaraha reminded. "I'm counting on you for most of the planning we'll need. If we're lucky." 

On his other side, Halin made a faint noise of skepticism. "And Archangel help us if we're not," he muttered. "See those Humans?" 

Guaraha glanced about. It was fairly obvious which particular Humans Halin meant, as three heavily armored knights were approaching at a quick rate, one with a red-plumed helmet evidently designating higher rank. "I see them," he agreed. "Let me handle this. Whatever you do, don't make them feel threatened." Though judging from Halin's knuckles, clenched white about his dagger, the Humans weren't the only ones feeling vulnerable. 

The lead knight came to a halt just a few feet in front of Guaraha, a fist equally tight on his sword hilt. "Winglies, what is your purpose in Deningrad?" he demanded. 

"We are from the Wingly Forest. We wish only to offer our help, and bring certain tidings of importance to your queen," Guaraha answered, with a polite bow. "May we request an audience with her?" 

Hesitating, the Human traded a glance with his companions. "We have no proof that you do not intend to harm the queen," he pointed out curtly. 

Guaraha spread his hands helplessly, startled at the near-accusation. "You have our word. If you will not accept that, I don't know what proof we can give." 

One of the two subordinates stepped forward, murmuring something to the first, who gave a slight nod. The second knight marched away, toward the nearby entrance of the Crystal Palace. 

"If you will wait a moment, the Second Sacred Sister Luanna may agree to hear you out," the commander of the knights said, his tone somewhat friendlier now. "I apologize for the unpleasantness. Recent events have made us overly cautious, perhaps, but better a little paranoia than regrets later." 

"I quite understand," Guaraha assured him. "My name is Guaraha." 

"I am Commander Travis of the Second Holy Knighthood," the Human responded, "charged with maintaining peace in the city after this catastrophe, and reporting to Sister Luanna." He studied the gathered Winglies for a moment. "If you don't mind my asking, I'd thought that the Winglies friendly to us preferred to remain in isolation?" 

Guaraha hesitated. He had no wish to start a panic in the already heavily damaged city. "That is--being reconsidered. This is a Human world now, but we hope to find some place in it. For now, as a gesture of friendship, we came to help you rebuild the Crystal Palace." 

The commander smiled. "I won't deny we were wondering how to manage that. The builders will welcome your help." 

Just then, Guaraha caught the faint, almost slippery feeling of a touch on his mind. He turned, frowning, to glance at Veria, the only one with expertise to reach out like that--but the girl was staring wide-eyed in shock at the doors to the palace. _But if it isn't her..._ he thought incredulously, and followed the gaze. 

A dark-haired young woman made her way slowly down the steps, one hand resting tentatively on the shoulder of a shorter blonde girl. The reason for this support was evident as she approached, her eyes clouded and her stare vacant. Guaraha had never met a blind person before, but the signs were clear enough. It was equally clear from Veria's reaction that this Human, unbelievable as it seemed, was the source of the gentle probe. 

"The Second Sacred Sister Luanna. The Fourth Sacred Sister Setie," Commander Travis announced, bowing to the telepath and the blonde respectively. "My ladies, the delegation from the Wingly Forest." 

Luanna's unsettling regard swept over them for a moment more, then she nodded. "Welcome to Deningrad," she said. "I can take you to Queen Theresa." She turned slightly, in the general direction of the knights. "Commander Travis, thank you. Your soldiers may return to their duties now. These Winglies have no intention of hurting anyone." 

The commander made a salute and promptly marched away, the knights following. Luanna smiled at Guaraha. "Your errand is one best discussed in private. If you will come with us?" And she gestured to the open door. 

Guaraha attempted a bow and barely kept himself from overbalancing. "Ah--thank you, my lady." He glanced over his shoulder to gauge the reactions of his companions. Besides Veria, only Rienna and Kedim looked disconcerted; the rest had evidently noticed nothing amiss. Not surprising. Most Winglies scorned the mental arts as suitable only for those with no better powers to learn. 

Generally hesitant to speak, Veria kept silence until the doors of the palace closed behind them, but no longer. "You're a _telepath_!" she accused the dark-haired Sacred Sister, in tones vibrating with utter disbelief. "But Humans can't _do_ that!" 

"I have met few who can," Luanna agreed, turning to peer curiously at Veria. "Is it a common gift among your people? The Wingly Lloyd was capable of stealing thoughts, and I noticed that several of you felt my probe." 

Filing the unfamiliar name away for later inquiry, Guaraha explained, "It's latent in many Winglies, though not something we concentrate on, in general. Veria is the only one of us really able to do anything of the kind. Oddly, the talent has faded little over the years, though all other magic grows weaker--pure magic ability has no effect on aptitude." 

Luanna nodded slowly. "Perhaps later you will have the opportunity to tell me more of this. But duty first. I feel a dark shadow of fear in your minds; what peril is terrible enough to bring you from your isolation when even the Divine Dragon did not do so?" 

"One that endangers all the world, Humans and Winglies alike," he replied, and suppressed a shudder of dread. Meru, somewhere out there, fighting that threat... "A far distant Wingly community has contacted us with news of the Dragoons, who battle to prevent it even now. But if they should fail, we have no hope but to work together." 

He felt that gentle brush again and knew that Luanna was verifying his truthfulness. "Queen Theresa must speak with you," she murmured, something in her voice mirroring the tension he felt. "Is it--likely that the Dragoons will fail?" 

Guaraha could not make himself look into her unseeing yet intensely unsettling gaze. "I don't know," he whispered. "I pray they succeed. My fiancée is one of them." 

Understanding touched her face. "Young Meru. She did not precisely tell us she was a Wingly, but I guessed...Miranda, the First Sacred Sister of Mille Seseau and my dear friend from childhood, is also a Dragoon. Let us all hope for their safe return." Luanna straightened slightly. "Come. The Queen will see you." 

* * *

Guaraha sensed about Queen Theresa something of the same air that he had always associated with Ancestor Blano--an indefinable yet nearly overpowering dignity, possibly a necessity for a good leader of any species. It was this more than the rich velvet gowns and towering jeweled headpiece that made him kneel almost instinctively, in a gesture of respect older than the Forest. 

"Your Majesty, may I present Guaraha, leader of the delegation from the Wingly Forest," Luanna said, an unerring hand extended toward him despite her lack of sight. At her request, he had told her the names and functions of all in the group while they walked, and she continued, "Veria, architect and historical expert. Rienna, coordinator and secondary architect. Pahlan Bardel, second in command and strongest of the magic users. Niama, Lanar, Halin, and Kedim, providing magic support. They are here to help us rebuild the Palace." 

The queen smiled warmly at them all, standing to take several steps down the raised dais. "I am very pleased to meet you. The Crystal Palace has always been somewhat beyond our skill to repair--fortunate for us that it has never needed much maintenance until now." 

Guaraha straightened, mildly pleased to note that his companions had also knelt. "We are unlikely to have skill enough to return the palace entirely to its original state, your Majesty," he admitted. "Much of our magic has faded over the years, and few remember the ancient technology at all. But we offer whatever assistance we can be." 

"I thank you for that." Queen Theresa looked more seriously at him now. "I trust your intentions on Luanna's word and my own sense of your minds, but you must understand that many of the townspeople will be uneasy at your presence. It would perhaps be best if you stayed out of sight as much as possible." 

"Certainly," Guaraha acquiesced. He hesitated, then gave in to curiosity. "If I may ask--I know of no recent interactions between our species save for Meru's presence and the Dragon Block Staff. Why this hostility?" 

Luanna released a sigh. "Several weeks ago, the Third Sacred Sister, Wink, was attacked by a Wingly in the Evergreen Forest. A second Wingly saved her and killed the first, and was injured in the process; then when she brought him here for treatment he kidnapped the queen and teleported away to steal an ancient artifact of the realm. Some have said that this may be caused by an anti-Human conspiracy." 

"The first attack may have been a renegade from our village," Guaraha said cautiously. "He became...irrational, after the death of his sister at the hands of Humans. Our deepest apologies if so." He did not dare to look at Pahlan. "I have no knowledge of this other. From an unknown Wingly community, possibly." 

"It seems likely." The queen considered in silence, then looked up again. "First, Guaraha, we must find your group somewhere suitable to stay. I fear the palace is in no condition for guests at the moment." She glanced to the young blonde still supporting Luanna. "Setie, you have overseen much of the relocation process; please find room in one of the undamaged districts." 

The younger Human, decorously silent before, gave a bright grin and gently guided Luanna to steady herself against the stairs. "All right," she said, in the blithe tones belonging only to the innocent and the very young. "Do one or two of you want to come with me? I don't know what you're used to or anything..." 

"I'll go!" Niama volunteered instantly, shifting her bulky pack to a less awkward position. "Not like I can be much use discussing things anyway. Kedim, remember everything I need to know for me, all right?" 

The boy heaved a put-upon sigh, but shrugged acquiescence. Guaraha smiled faintly. "Thank you, Niama." 

"I will also come, if I may," Pahlan put in. 

The tone was calm enough, but a slight tension of his jaw alerted Guaraha to the proud Wingly's uneasy state of mind. Doubts flickered in his thoughts for an endless fraction of a second; was it wise to let Pahlan go off into the Human town without supervision? Would this news of his brother's fate trigger a relapse of the old hatreds? Pahlan's suspicions of treachery were clear enough to Guaraha, though perhaps no one else had noticed the telltale tightness about his face. 

But...Ancestor Blano had chosen Pahlan to come on this highly sensitive endeavor. Guaraha needed his help, both for his magical ability and for the respect Halin in particular accorded the elder Bardel. To show a lack of trust would undermine any chance Pahlan had at recovering. _And,_ Guaraha acknowledged silently, _I do trust him. He won't do anything that might make our mission fail._

The moment's indecision past, Guaraha nodded permission to his second-in-command and hoped no one had noticed his hesitation. The door swung shut behind the three. 

The queen studied him intently for a moment. "Now, Guaraha...what is this danger you find so very important?" 

He blinked in surprise. Luanna had dismissed all the guards and attendants from the room, but he had heard her say nothing to the queen. Still...with her undeniable if implausible skills, perhaps speech wasn't necessary. Dismissing the puzzle for the moment, Guaraha began, "The story goes back more than eleven thousand years, your Majesty..." 

* * *

Pahlan began to regret his decision to accompany Niama almost before they reached the palace doors. This had nothing to do with Setie, who was, for a Human, quite pleasant. Nor had anything confirmed his suspicions of treachery. It was his Wingly companion's behavior that caused a distinct headache to begin forming just behind his eyes. 

Niama was energetic and highly intelligent, with an inborn magical skill not to be dismissed and a youthful exuberance that came close to topping the absent Meru's. By years, she ought to be well out of the adolescent stage that had always irritated Pahlan; but Niama was determinedly immature. She was also an incorrigible chatterbox, and youthfully frivolous. 

"I love your dress!" she half-squealed to Setie as they walked down the long staircase, a guard opening the heavy doors for them. "It's so _bright_. We haven't got any dyes like that in the Forest." 

A hand darting instinctively to the brilliantly pink bows on the garment, Setie laughed. "Do you really? Miranda--she's the First Sacred Sister--she said it makes me look like a poisonous toadstool, but the Third Sacred Sister Wink gave it to me and she says I look nice in it." 

"I think it's wonderful," Niama declared. "And I was wondering, how do people buy things around here? I promised to bring some presents home for my friends, especially new clothes." 

"Is this really the right time to discuss clothes?" Pahlan demanded, eyeing the younger Wingly a little askance. _I really should have stayed behind...anything that happens to Niama is no more than she deserves!_ he thought irritably. 

Niama rolled her eyes expressively. "Clothes are important, Bardel," she said in a tone of forbearance. "Any time is right to discuss them." 

There was a snort very like a repressed giggle from Setie. Pahlan shook his head in despair. 

"But anyway--" Niama hesitated. "Ah--what do I call you? I mean, what's your title? Guaraha said we're all supposed to be as formal as possible. I think he's afraid of offending someone." 

The Human grinned as a guard pulled the heavy doors open. "Just Setie. Please." 

"Setie, then. Like Guaraha said, I'm Niama." The girl jerked a thumb back toward her older companion. "The grouch there is Pahlan Bardel." 

Setie made a polite half-bow to Pahlan. "A pleasure to meet you." 

"Likewise," he replied, inclining his head slightly and raising his estimation of the Human a notch. Young she might be, but she did have some knowledge of the proper formalities--unlike Niama. 

Niama waited impatiently for the introduction to conclude, then continued, "So, Setie, you think there'd be anyone who'd trade with me? I brought some stuff," she waved a hand toward the bulging pack she carried, "mostly clothes, but some other things, too." 

"Oh, I imagine you could find someone," Setie said thoughtfully. "Most of the merchants only trade in gold--easier to carry, you know--but they don't have the best clothes anyway. I'll introduce you to some of my friends. Lenita is probably somewhere around. She sews beautifully, and she's always interested in seeing new patterns and material." 

Niama clapped her hands in excitement. "Great!" 

"But later," Setie added, to Pahlan's relief. "You need somewhere to stay, first." 

Their steps crunched audibly over the dust that coated the streets, a strange mixture of ordinary crumbled rock and the blue-green fragments of the palace crystal. The rubble grew noticeably less as the distance from the palace increased, however, until they reached a section of the city that scarcely seemed damaged at all, save for the occasional shattered window or missing shingle. The houses here were tall and imposing on either side of the broad street, but the people who came and went from their doorsteps, peering curiously at the strangers, were dressed no differently from the other citizens Pahlan had seen. 

Setie waved cheerfully at the onlookers, and most of them smiled back at her and went about their business. "We're putting a lot of the people whose homes were worst damaged in the attack in this section for now," she explained. "Most of these houses used to belong to members of the extended royal family, but it's shrunk over the years, so there were a bunch empty. There are a few still not being used, and you can have whichever you prefer." She halted in front of a large house with sparkling crystalline ornamentation hung above the door, and lifted a polished metal knocker to send two thumps echoing through the house. 

A young girl with brown hair pinned into a neat bun opened the door moments later. "Oh--Sacred Sister Setie!" she exclaimed, with a curtsy. "I'm so sorry, I didn't expect this one to be needed so soon--the dusting's only half done, and I haven't swept at all yet." 

"I didn't know it was you here, Lenita," Setie remarked, blinking in mild surprise. "Don't worry about that, there's plenty of time. I'm just showing the house to our guests. They may be staying here." 

The girl's gaze turned to the Winglies, and she curtsied again, though not as deeply. "Welcome, then. I'll be done soon," she added to Setie, and turned to snatch her dust-cloth from a nearby table and hurry away. 

Looking after her ruefully, Setie commented to Niama, "That's Lenita, the one I mentioned. I'd introduce you now, but she'd consider it neglecting her duties. Sometimes I think she'd make a far better Sacred Sister than me." 

"But where would all these terribly conscientious people be without a sense of humor?" Niama pointed out, with a teasing glance at Pahlan. 

He shifted uncomfortably. "Somewhere to stay?" he reminded Setie. 

The blonde waved a sweeping hand toward the double staircase and the multiple doors. "Have a look and see what you think. There are other houses if you don't like this one." 

Niama scampered up the stairs at once, delightedly exploring every corner of the house. Pahlan opened a door at random and peered in, to find a room with a single bed that seemed disconcertingly large and flat--beds in the Forest tended to be curved against the interior walls of the trees--but serviceable enough. "As long as there is room for us all, this should be fine." 

"This one's mine!" Niama called, bounding out of an upstairs door. "It's perfect!" She ducked back inside in excitement. 

Setie edged a bit closer to Pahlan. "Is she always this...well...hyperactive?" the Human asked in a soft murmur. 

With faint disapproval, Pahlan watched the young Wingly dart back and forth between rooms. "Most adolescents go through a similar stage," he informed Setie. "A few people become stuck there indefinitely." 

The girl laughed, a pleasantly musical sound, and Pahlan was startled to feel his own lips curve into a smile in response. "I've noticed that myself," she agreed merrily. "And do you consider me an adolescent, Mr. Bardel?" 

"Pahlan," he corrected absently--and froze. What had possessed him to allow a half-grown girl he had barely met, and a Human at that, to use his first name? For all the years he had known her, even Meru hadn't earned that privilege. 

Vowing to keep a closer guard on his treacherous tongue, Pahlan continued hastily, "I know little about Human age, but you seem to have outgrown that stage, fortunately." 

Setie smiled shyly up at him, a sweet, guileless expression that reminded him somehow of a happier time. "That's very nice of you to say, Pahlan." 

Unnoticed for the moment, Niama speculatively inspected the pair from her position behind the upstairs railing. The difference between Winglies and Humans mattered to her only so far as the fact that Humans were unfamiliar and exciting; far more important, in her view, were the slightly foolish grins both Setie and Pahlan were giving one another. It was an expression she recognized from long experience. 

Niama fancied herself a talented matchmaker, and in fact several of her friends were testimony to her skills--it was her intervention that had brought Lanar and Rienna together, though the couple would never have admitted it. And the way these two looked, she had an excellent chance of success...and an appealing challenge, considering it was Pahlan. 

Her mind leaped instantly to consider possible courses of action. _Subtle,_ she thought, a frown creasing her forehead, _I'll have to be very subtle. I can't let either of them notice. Definitely they'd object, if they see what I'm doing._

Below, Setie said something too soft for Niama to hear and Pahlan reacted with a smile, almost a chuckle. _That's the most unguarded I've ever seen him,_ Niama thought in wonder. Pahlan's long-ingrained prejudice would make this rather difficult, but if she managed it... 

_Setie may be just what he needs to recover._

The gentle thump of a closing door caught Niama's attention, and she looked over to find the Human girl Lenita leaving a room upstairs. Never one to lose an opportunity, Niama hurried after her. "Lenita! Setie tells me you like to sew..." 

* * *

Veria peered intently at the scaled drawings the architects had brought, comparing the older diagrams with the sketches made since the dragon's attack. She poked a finger at the tallest spire, supported in the original plans by several delicate pillars and wholly missing now. "What was up there?" she asked of the two Human architects at the table with her. 

"It was an ancient Wingly room," one replied nervously. The taller of the two, his hair was coal-black in stark contrast to his companion's nearly Wingly shade of pure white, evidently a sign of advanced age. "We called it the Chamber of the Seal for a legend of how it had been used in a ceremony to lock away some danger, and few people went there." 

A sudden jolt of realization brought Veria half out of her seat in excitement, facts she had long studied falling into place at last. _Of course! That's what it meant! The shape of the crystal--_

And reality caught up with her, bringing her down with a thump. That top spire could do them very little good now, fallen and scattered across a square mile of Deningrad, the pillars standing alone at half their former height. 

Veria sighed. "There's no way we can rebuild that, not if we had half a century. Pity...but..." She stared again at the sketch. "The throne room's nearly intact, and with a little patching..." 

The younger Human cleared his throat. "Ah, Lady Veria, we don't quite follow what you're saying." 

She glanced up in faint surprise. "I'm no lady. Call me Veria." 

The Human looked away uncomfortably and didn't speak. Veria shook her head slightly and explained, "The crystal focuses and strengthens magic used from within it. That's why we came here--it's the only place where we might have a fighting chance against what's coming. The effects would have been especially strong in that spire. But if we change the shape of the crystal around the throne room, it may produce an effect nearly as strong." 

"Magic," the older architect muttered with disapproval clear in his voice. "Don't like depending on something you can't see." 

Veria nodded in rueful acknowledgement. "Nor do I, honestly. But we haven't any choice...normal weapons won't do us much good now." 

"But you're a Wingly!" the first man blurted, and abruptly began to blush, a strong pink glow rising in his cheeks. "I--I mean, you can use magic." 

"Some of us can," Veria corrected gently, taking pity on the Human's obvious embarrassment. "I barely have enough to fly, no more." 

The older Human lifted a hand in protest. "Then how do you know you can control this new power?" 

Veria smiled at him. "I trust my friends to do it. And besides--if you have another plan, I'd like to hear it. I'm not altogether fond of this one myself." 

"I prefer to leave wars to warriors." But he shrugged. "Still, you're right. We haven't any choice." 

The younger man leaned forward and grinned. "We're expected to be the ones saving the day, for once. And to rebuild the Palace. How often do architects get that kind of chance? I'm not losing it." His hazel eyes met Veria's dark crimson, firm in determination. "My name is Peter. This is Stephen. It's a pleasure to meet you, Veria." 

Stephen cleared his throat gruffly, and nodded to her in acknowledgement. "Well, what are we waiting for? Lots to get done." 

"Right," Veria agreed, and touched the drawing again, her sight going distant for a moment. "We need to find how much support will be necessary to hold the structural integrity here..." 

Somehow, it rather felt as though the room had lost its winter chill. 

* * *

The collapse of the Crystal Palace's tallest spire had left fragments scattered throughout the city, but already many of the larger pieces had been collected in a storehouse not far from the Palace. Those in charge of the cleanup had been uncertain whether anything could be done to repair the damaged building, but someone had decided that if they were to try they would need as much material as possible. 

Looking at the gathered crystal, Rienna was intensely grateful to the anonymous Human overseer. Finding and carrying this much would have taken them days, even with Lanar's experimental spells to help, and time was of the essence now. 

Rienna slipped a hand into her husband's and looked up at him with a smile. "Can your spell manage these, do you think?" 

He nodded, eyes darting over the shards in evaluation. "It should only take two of us to lift each--maybe three for the largest. And then you and Veria can seal them in place." 

"With a little assistance from someone else, maybe," she amended. "Veria's books and Caron both said it doesn't take much power, but the ancients worked on a different scale than we do." 

Lanar squeezed her hand briefly and let go, leaning over the blue-green crystal to examine it more closely. "Sharp," he noted, a finger hovering above one razor-like edge. "We need to be careful not to get cut. Didn't Caron mention something about side effects?" 

"If any crystal actually gets into the bloodstream, yes. A temporary increase in magic power, followed by a day or two of exhaustion and illness and increased risk of blood loss from any injury." 

"Not worth it," Halin said. The short Wingly was leaning against the doorframe of the warehouse in a determinedly nonchalant manner, eyeing the Human who had accompanied them with a caution that belied the effort. "Increase of power is good, but that's too high a price." 

Rienna nodded. "The ancients felt the same way, evidently. Crystal-workers were always careful to dull the edges before the work was considered complete. The long-term exposure wasn't so harmful, however--it tended to increase power levels very slowly, without any of the side effects. That's why the Birth City was built of the stuff." 

With a grimace, Lanar turned away from the pile of crystal. "Much as I admire their work, I wouldn't have wanted to live back then," he muttered. 

A shiver went up Rienna's spine. No, as much as Prado and the Bardels would have liked to have them all believe so, the height of the Wingly empire had been no credit to their species. The breathtakingly lovely palace that now might be their last chance at survival had, according to Veria's research, been built solely for the purpose of winnowing through the newborn Winglies and killing those who did not come up to standards of magical ability. 

In one corner, the Human commander shifted, drawing attention to himself. "Several of our soldiers have been cut rather badly trying to move the sharper pieces away from civilian homes," Commander Travis offered. "We didn't notice any illness. Perhaps this only affects Winglies?" 

"That's possible," Rienna nodded. "Our records are patchy at best--they don't say much about Humans--but it would make sense. Veria's theory is that the illness is caused by conflicting magical resonance, and most Humans wouldn't have anything for the crystal to resonate with." Once, she wouldn't have qualified the statement, but that was before she had met the Dragoons, or seen Luanna's bewildering gift. 

Lanar was moving around the pile, fingers flicking in old habit as he counted. "There should be enough," he decided at last. "If Veria doesn't go overboard--and she knows what she's doing, so I don't expect she will--there's enough here to do most of the patching and reshaping, even if we mess up once or twice." 

"Does the crystal need to be moved closer, so we can start work as soon as Veria's done with her plans?" Halin asked. 

With a considering frown, Lanar glanced out the door over the short distance to the Palace, lips moving in what Rienna recognized as silent calculations. "No, this is close enough. If we were much closer, there's too much risk of running into something before we could get the crystal to the right height." 

Rienna looked briefly between the crystal and the Palace, her brow furrowing. She didn't have Lanar's gift for judging distances or trajectories, but she hoped he wasn't overestimating the length of time they would be able to sustain the spell. _After all, we've never tested it,_ she added, taking care to form the thought very clearly in her mind as she took a step closer to her husband. 

Lanar blinked, his gaze turning momentarily toward her in silent acknowledgement, then said, "But, Halin, don't let me forget I need to have us all try the spell once or twice before Veria finishes. So we don't waste time." 

Satisfied, Rienna let her concentration fade. Lanar wasn't particularly talented telepathically, but he _was_ attuned to her own mind, and Veria had given her a few tips on thought transference. It came in handy from time to time, since Lanar hated to be publicly corrected, and Rienna had an equal dislike of drawing attention to herself. 

"We could go ahead and try that, then," Halin suggested. "There isn't much else to do." 

"All right," Lanar agreed, turning to Commander Travis for his input. "If that's all right, Commander...?" 

The Human shrugged. "I trust you'll be careful, so there shouldn't be any problem with it. Shall I leave?" 

Lanar hesitated for a moment, and Rienna knew that he wanted to ask her to leave as well, but was half-afraid of offending her. She grinned at her husband in wordless understanding and said, "Yes, Commander, just as well if the two of us get out of the way. I expect they'll need to concentrate." 

"Right," he said with poorly concealed relief, and ducked out the door. Rienna followed quickly; behind her, she could already feel Lanar beginning to gather his magic in preparation for the spell. 

Once she judged they were a safe distance away from any possible backlash of magic or broken crystal, Rienna stopped walking and smiled at the Human commander. "I wanted to thank you for not jumping to conclusions when we entered the city, Commander. That must've been hard, with what had happened." 

He returned the smile, and Rienna thought it was rather astonishing how the friendly expression warmed a face that had obviously seen its share of battles. "Well, we're trained never to provoke hostilities. And I've never much liked the conspiracy theories. If I believed every rumor floating the city I'd never be able to sleep for fear some disaster or another was coming." 

Rienna laughed. "Rumors spread quickly in the Forest, too--though on somewhat different subjects. Marriages and engagements mostly. I can't remember how many times now someone's told me Niama had finally gotten engaged...all mistaken, of course." 

"She's the girl who went with the Fourth Sacred Sister, isn't she?" Commander Travis said, peering into the distance. "Because if I'm not mistaken, Sister Setie's coming back now. You can see her a mile off, she loves that pink-and-white dress." 

Rienna turned to follow his gaze. "Oh, good, are they finished? Bardel and Niama will both need to try my husband's spell, too, and I expect Veria is working as fast as she can, so we may not have a lot of extra time." 

The bright pink that Commander Travis had pointed out was approaching from a wide street just across the open square from the warehouse, both of which were located in back of the Crystal Palace; the paving stones were cracked and broken from the impact of the crystal above, but the rubble had been completely cleared away. Rienna saw the pale gray-blue color of most forest-woven Wingly clothes beside Setie--but only one. Concerned, she led the way to meet them. 

It was Pahlan Bardel beside the Fourth Sacred Sister, and he looked rather more relaxed than was usual, which relieved most of Rienna's worries. Nothing could possibly have happened to Niama if the paranoid Pahlan wasn't concerned about it. She waved at the pair, and Setie waved cheerfully back, turning to make her way toward them. "What's up?" she called. 

"Lanar, Halin and I were checking out the recovered crystal," Rienna replied. "They're still back there--making sure Lanar's spell will actually work. Veria is in the Palace, with a couple of architects, to figure out what we're doing. Guaraha is still speaking with Queen Theresa and Sister Luanna--diplomatic-type stuff, I'm sure--and Kedim stayed with him. You found a house for us?" 

Pahlan nodded. "Not what we're used to, of course, but rather more luxurious. Niama loves it. She stayed behind for a bit--something about having found someone who makes clothes..." He rolled his eyes, making his opinion of Niama's incessant frivolousness quite clear. 

Rienna grinned, but something about the older Wingly's face tugged at her mind for a moment. "Niama would. Lanar will probably want you to go try out his spell, too," she added. "So we don't waste time." 

"Yes, that makes sense," Bardel agreed, and Rienna watched in shock as he turned to the Fourth Sacred Sister and smiled warmly at her. "I'll see you later, then, Setie..." 

But the Human shook her head slightly. "No, first, I'd really like it if you and Rienna could meet Sister Wink. She's just right there, it won't take long, and she'll like seeing you." Setie indicated a double-story house nearby. "She's still recovering, so she can't get out much, and I don't have time to visit as much as I'd like." 

Bardel shifted uneasily. "The Third Sacred Sister? I don't think..." 

"Oh, come on, Pahlan," Setie insisted, and Rienna raised a startled eyebrow at the Human's use of the proud Wingly's first name. That Bardel made no protest, either, had to mean that he'd given her leave--Rienna couldn't remember the last time either Bardel had done that since their sister's death. And to a Human? 

"Setie, there's something I need to tell you first," Bardel warned. "I wasn't sure it was the right time to mention it before--but now..." He let out a troubled sigh, glanced to Rienna as though for support. "The renegade who attacked the Third Sacred Sister was almost definitely my brother, Sacan Bardel." 

A cloud darkened the Human's bright blue eyes, as she gazed at Pahlan; Rienna saw it and winced slightly in sympathy for the Wingly. "Oh," Setie said, and something indefinable had changed in her voice. "Oh." 

Pahlan looked away and continued rapidly, "So you understand it might not be a good idea for her to see me, especially if she's still recovering. It would probably upset her." 

But Setie's mind had evidently gone on a different train of thought, because she murmured, "Then--it must be your sister, too, who Guaraha said was killed by Humans. Pahlan, I'm so sorry. It was...very kind of you to come to help us. I didn't realize how difficult this must be for you." 

"Well," Bardel said gruffly. "I...cannot hate your race for the actions of a few criminals. But, Setie, I really shouldn't meet the Third Sacred Sister just yet." 

Setie shook her head. "Wink isn't one to hold grudges, Pahlan. I didn't tell you how she was wounded, did I?" 

He blinked, half-turning toward her again. "But I thought--my brother--" 

"No, he never hurt her, she was rescued too quickly. This other, Lloyd? He kidnapped Queen Theresa, betrayed us all, stole an ancient heirloom of Mille Seseau, and battled the Dragoons...and just as Mr. Dart was about to win, Wink jumped in front of Lloyd. Saved his life. Took a pretty bad slash from Mr. Dart's sword...he wasn't quite able to stop in time." She grinned at him. "Wink believes the best of people. Miranda thinks it's foolish of her, but I've always admired her trust." 

Pahlan stood silent, his face clearly showing his struggle to take all this in. Setie continued, to he and Rienna both, "So will you come and meet her?" 

Her decision had been made already, when she'd seen the look in Pahlan Bardel's long-hardened eyes. "Perhaps later, Sister Setie. I need to see how Veria's work is coming, first. She'll have to know what we found here." 

Commander Travis opened his mouth as though to object. Rienna managed to locate his boot, and unobtrusively stepped on it--not hard enough to hurt, but the Human commander got her point and said nothing. 

"If you're sure, then," Setie said, with a polite nod, and tugged Pahlan after her toward the house she had indicated. Rienna watched them go with a faint smile, and a hope she didn't quite dare to put into words, even silently... 

"What was that for?" the commander asked her, tone just a bit pained. "I was only going to say that the architects with her already know how much crystal there is to work with. Can you please move your foot?" 

Rienna realized she was still crushing the Human's toes and complied at once, embarrassed at forgetting. "Sorry, Commander. I just...kind of want them to be by themselves for a bit." 

He looked after the pair, the door now closing quietly behind them. "I'm not sure I understand." 

"Neither am I," she admitted, with a wry shrug. "But..." She hesitated, and at the commander's inquiring glance summoned her earlier intuition in an attempt to explain her actions. 

The vague feeling still refused to come clear, however, and Rienna could only shake her head at the Human. "It's only that--I've never seen Bardel care that much about what someone thinks of him before..." 

* * *

The Third Sacred Sister lay propped on her side in a large bed on the well-lighted upper room of the house, pale blonde hair scattered across the white linen in disarray, and it was apparent from her awkward position that she was in some pain. She looked up at the sound of the door, however, and her crystal-blue eyes were alert. "Setie! It's good to see you!" she said happily. "Any chance you can braid my hair again? Felicia washed it this morning, but she never has time to braid it for me, and it just doesn't feel right this way." Then her gaze turned to Pahlan, and she frowned slightly. 

"This is Pahlan Bardel," Setie introduced quickly. "He's with the envoy from the Wingly Forest--I'm sure you've heard." 

"Oh--yes, of course," Wink nodded. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bardel." She attempted a half-bow from the bed, but her eyes stayed on him, faint puzzlement trying to find a reason for recognition. 

He returned the bow and shifted uneasily, meeting that clear blue gaze only with difficulty. "The pleasure is mine, Sister Wink. However, I find I must extend you our deepest apologies for the incident in the Evergreen Forest...the community's apologies, and my own. Sacan Bardel, who attacked you, was my brother." 

Wink nodded in sudden understanding. "I thought you looked familiar...you needn't apologize, Mr. Bardel. I don't hold you or your people responsible in any way. And I do regret your brother's death...please believe that if there had been a chance, I would have done all I could to prevent it." 

"I believe you," Pahlan said, and found rather to his surprise that he did. Seeing the indirect cause of Sacan's death had not triggered the bitterness that he had half expected; this young Human woman, injured and defenseless, touched his long-guarded heart almost as Tiala's innocence had once done. 

_Sacan must have been utterly beyond hope, if he attacked her..._ "Call me Pahlan. No need for formality." Setie already had permission to use his name; giving it to Wink seemed only fair. 

Setie took a seat on Wink's bed, careful not to jar it, gathering the loose strands of hair with a practiced touch. She gestured toward a seat facing the bed with a brief smile at Pahlan. "Sit down. I'm terribly curious...if it isn't impolite to ask, can you tell us about your Forest?" 

A little uncertain, Pahlan settled into the cushioned bench. "If you like. It's not a large population anymore..." he began, watching Setie's expression for signs that she was becoming bored. 

Peculiarly, she looked honestly interested, and with a glance to assure himself that Wink was also not averse to his continuing, Pahlan began to relax. A stray thought slipped by unnoticed: _I rather like talking with Setie..._

* * *

Guaraha sank gingerly onto the wide bed in his room, and let out a sigh, releasing some measure of the tension that had kept him tightly wound for hours. It was going well--better than he'd ever expected, in fact. Lanar reported that there was plenty of crystal and they would be able to move it easily enough. Pahlan and Setie had found this house for the group to rest in. Veria and the Humans helping her had sent word that they expected to have the first stages of construction ready to begin by the next morning. And most importantly, the Humans had accepted their assistance. 

It had been a little difficult, telling Queen Theresa and Luanna certain truths about matters that touched closely on an ancient and well-respected religion. Kedim had shown an unexpected touch for diplomacy, pointing out that the Divine Tree was not in fact what was trying to harm them; rather, only one fruit held the danger, much as most of the other species had battled at one point or another. 

_I need to stop judging Kedim based on his choice of friends,_ Guaraha thought with a small smile. The fact that the boy tended to associate almost exclusively with Niama meant that most people in the Forest considered him to be much like her: impulsive and not given to much thought. But Kedim's speech to the Humans--there was no other word for it--rather effectively forced Guaraha to reevaluate the younger Wingly. 

_What was it he said? '...If it is in fact fate that the world end, nothing that we do can possibly make things any worse, for our time is over and our feeble attempts will change nothing. But if we do have a chance at delaying or stopping such an end, as seems likely, then it is a terrible crime against the Divine Tree and life of every kind not to try...'_

Guaraha shook his head slightly in bemused wonder at the memory. _The boy may well have a promising future as a public speaker. Who would have guessed?_

_I wonder if Niama knows how good he is at this kind of thing. Come to that, I wonder if the Ancestor knew. I wouldn't put it past him._

A tap on the door interrupted his musings, and Guaraha stood to open it, faintly startled to find Pahlan there. "What is it?" he asked the older Wingly. 

Pahlan looked at him with a peculiarly uncertain expression for one normally so sure of himself. "I don't know," he admitted, laying a hand on the doorframe. "Something feels...wrong." 

"Something here?" Guaraha probed. Pahlan, with his higher level of magic, was unusually sensitive to changes in the atmosphere that meant a spell was beginning to give way or take effect--he had proved that many times in the Forest. It was hard to see what he could be sensing now, though...there shouldn't be any spells active in Deningrad. 

"No, not here," Pahlan said slowly. "Nowhere nearby. I don't think I would have felt this in the Forest, too many Winglies using small spells constantly, the short-range teleporters...but the crystal here focuses things..." He trailed off. 

Guaraha frowned. "It's not from the Forest, then?" he asked. 

Pahlan opened his mouth to respond--and abruptly winced. An instant later Guaraha felt it too, a pressure building within the area of his mind that he tapped to fly and for other spells at need, unmistakably familiar this time as it had not been twice before, building to an unbearable strain-- 

--and without warning it broke, leaving Guaraha gasping slightly and gone pale for reasons that had nothing to do with the physical effects. _No. No. It can't mean that, don't let it mean that!_

He sprinted to the room's wide window, throwing it open without regard for the delicacy of the glass panes, and stared outward at the deceptively serene moon hanging low in the blood-red evening sky. _Had_ that been a flicker of light, somewhere to the north? 

A light touch made itself known on his shoulder, Pahlan offering a hesitant gesture of comfort. "It's only the third," he said softly. "There's one left--Mayfil, probably, from the direction this one was the Signet Sphere in Zenebatos." 

"_Meru_," Guaraha rasped, and did not bother to hide the terrible fear in his eyes as he turned to face the other. "They would have been there, fighting...and they failed. Does it mean--?" 

Pahlan hesitated, searching for the right words, but at last could only shake his head. "It--it's possible, Guaraha. But...you'd know, wouldn't you, if she was--if anything happened to her?" 

He turned away, gazing desperately to the distance in a futile attempt to touch the mind he'd once known better than any other. It was common in the Wingly Forest for engaged or married couples to have a sense of one another's well-being at the least, but of course no one had ever had a chance to test it across much distance, and the years apart had weakened his connection to Meru. 

_I didn't even know it was her when she came back through the portal...would I sense anything now, if she had--had died?_

"I don't know," he whispered, and the admission tore deeper at his aching heart. 

* * *

  


Notes: This fic seems to be focusing rather heavily on Wingly telepathy at this point, so I figure I'd better give my reasoning on that. There are three different points in the game where we are given evidence as to Wingly mental powers. 

First, entering Kadessa, Meru's reaction to the arena and the deaths which took place there: this could be argued away as just a sort of racial guilt on her part, but you'd think she'd have collapsed before then--it isn't like she didn't know what happened there. Something else had to trigger that. 

Second, in the Crystal Palace, Luanna specifically says that Lloyd is reading Queen Theresa's mind. Evidence enough there that, when well-trained, Winglies can actually get information from others mentally against their will. This point brings up Luanna and Queen Theresa as well, of course...but my theories on that are probably best left till next chapter. 

Third, Meru again, this time saying that she can feel the presence of the people in Ulara. Meru never seems to be especially powerful in terms of the flashier magic, thus my assumption that telepathy isn't dependent on strength. 

All of this is my own opinion, of course, and if you have another or some evidence I missed I'd love to hear it! 

As usual, if you see anything wrong with this fic please let me know so I can fix it. I'm afraid this chapter doesn't quite meet the standard of the first, but I don't know how to make it better...Chapter Three I don't expect to finish for quite a while, but please be patient with me. I'm actually writing this at an incredible pace compared to anything I've done before! 

Many thanks to Amanda Swiftgold, Aerena, Omni Dragon, and Sors for reviewing the first chapter! 

~*~DawningStar 


	3. Wingly Pride

Here I Must Wait, Part Three: Wingly Pride 

Here I Must Wait   
by DawningStar 

Part Three: Wingly Pride   
  
__

Clear your eyes and look:   
beneath the crystal, bones lie rotting...   
the innocents, murdered for useless conceit. 

In this all races are equal:   
no more Humans die at our hands   
than we slaughter of our own children. 

And is this then the pride of the Winglies:   
death, murder, and blood?   
No empire stands long on such foundation.   
--renegade Wingly poet known as Crystal Shard, of the Dragon Campaign era; record preserved in Ulara 

"That's good, that's good--hold it there!" Veria called, glowing wings lifting her lightly to the seam between the part of the Palace that still stood and the fragment Lanar and Halin held up by magic. Rienna was already there, her fingers splayed over the join, eyes closed, and Kedim hovered just behind her in support, calling on his own reserves of magic to add to the power surrounding the girl. 

Rienna absorbed the added energy easily, redirecting it through her hands and into the crystal. With a final flare of light from the vanishing crack, there was no longer any visible difference between the two sections. "Check it!" she advised Veria. 

A swift probe of the crystal assured the younger Wingly that the seal was good, and she waved an all-clear to the pair waiting below. The tingling sense of magic faded as Lanar and Halin stepped back; they stood ready to renew the spell for a tense moment, then relaxed as the newly placed segment showed no sign of separating. 

Veria landed again at the base of the crystal wall, and closed off the power to her wings, the pulsing noise they made vanishing along with the glimmering light. Rienna and Kedim followed suit. Both Lanar and Halin were gasping slightly from their exertion, and Veria noted that Rienna was also breathing heavily. Kedim wasn't, yet, being the youngest of the four working and also assigned to the task that took the least concentration. 

"We're taking a break for now," Veria directed. "Niama, you take over for Halin on the next segment." 

Standing near Guaraha, Niama nodded her understanding. Halin scowled darkly and half-opened his mouth in protest, but with a glance at Guaraha evidently thought better of it. The group leader had announced in no uncertain terms that while the construction went on, everyone was to listen to Veria, Rienna, and the Human architects without complaint. 

Which was making Veria more than a little nervous, as it placed more responsibility on her than she had ever before dealt with; both Rienna and the Humans were showing a disturbing tendency to look to _her_. She supposed it was understandable, since they were working mostly from her plans to rebuild the Palace, but still... 

"That's two-thirds of the primary segments completed," Peter, the younger of the two Human architects, was reporting to Guaraha as Veria rejoined the bystanders at a safe distance from the path of the crystal shards. He held a sheaf of roughly sketched plans, the best the three of them had managed in the limited time available. "If we can finish the others today, too, we'll be well on schedule for the secondary segments tomorrow." 

Veria nodded in agreement. "The secondaries will go faster," she told Guaraha. "They're smaller--easier to lift." 

The leader grinned. "Whatever you say, Veria...you know I don't understand a thing about it." But he looked over to where Lanar and Rienna stood discussing the next crystal, and the smile faded. "Veria, are you sure Lanar and Rienna can keep working like this? They look awfully tired..." 

She shrugged helplessly. "Niama doesn't have enough grasp on her strength to lift without a guide, and Halin isn't familiar enough with the spell yet; and Rienna's the only one who can do the sealing. I tried, but I don't have her gift for using someone else's strength, and I'd never manage alone." 

Guaraha nodded, resignation in his face. "I suppose so. I've tried combining strengths, too, I never was any good at it. Just make sure no one collapses." 

"I'll watch them," she promised. "They all want to do their best. They know time's running out..." Her gaze darted involuntarily to the Moon, looming ominously low in the cloud-swept sky. "But I'll try to make sure no one pushes too hard." 

"All we can do, I suppose." A sigh of frustration escaped the older Wingly. "Veria, are you feeling, just a little, like you're completely useless here?" 

She flicked a lock of silvery hair back and raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm in _charge_ here, Guaraha. All I can do is wander around telling people things they already know. Of course I'm feeling useless." 

"Oh, good." He offered her a faint, lopsided smile. "I didn't want to be the only one." 

Veria snorted slightly. "Has Bardel come back yet?" she asked. 

"No, not yet." Guaraha looked toward the open doors of the Palace. Pahlan Bardel, the strongest magic-user among them, had gone to estimate just how much of a power boost they could expect from the crystal's focusing effects. "It shouldn't take him too much longer, though." 

"All right." Veria paused for a moment, considering how to word her next question. "It occurred to me," she said at last, slowly, "once we have some idea how much help this is going to be, we need to send someone back to the Forest to report, and get things ready...just in case." 

Guaraha looked at her, expression thoughtful. "You're right," he agreed. "Time's going to be close here, working from a worst-case scenario, and we can't afford to be optimistic." His crimson eyes went distant. 

Veria winced. She hadn't wanted to cause the other any more pain by reminding him of Meru's uncertain plight, but perhaps there hadn't been any way around it. 

His attention returned quickly, however, and he continued, "Who would you suggest sending?" 

"Well--Bardel is the fastest," she pointed out. "We need Rienna and Lanar here for sure, and Kedim and Niama are proving to be very useful--Rienna says it's much easier when one of them is helping her, they're young and not so reluctant to release control to her. Halin's a possibility, but he doesn't have as much grasp on the specifics as Bardel does." 

"True." Guaraha glanced toward the Palace doors again. "Odd...I expected Pahlan to be back by now. Testing shouldn't take him this long." 

"Maybe he got distracted," Niama put in, a sly grin curving her lip as she glanced at Veria conspiratorially. Veria, with a certain amount of effort, controlled her giggle. 

An edge of skepticism touched his voice. "I can't see much distracting Pahlan. If we'd sent _you_, now, Niama, I might believe it." 

Niama snorted, very softly. "Guaraha, you ought to pay more attention to things. I expected better from you. And you the one who knows Bardel best, too." 

"I don't believe in listening to gossip and rumors," Guaraha countered, tone lofty, but the quirk of his lip told Veria the other girl had succeeded in pulling his mind away from darker imaginings. 

Grinning more openly, Niama inquired pertly, "What, even when they're _true_?" 

"Especially when they're true," Guaraha informed her. "It's more polite. And that _is_ how we're supposed to behave. Polite? Formal? Am I the only one who remembers this?" 

She flapped a nonchalant hand at him. "Oh, nonsense. Formality is for people you don't know. We're all friends here." Niama turned to Peter for support. "Isn't that right?" 

The young architect attempted to look solemn, with dubious success. "Certainly it is, Lady Niama," he agreed, and bowed. The posture almost hid his half-swallowed laughter. 

Stephen, the elderly Human architect, gave a gentle snort. "You youngsters and your jokes," he said tolerantly. "Some things never change, I suppose...oh, Veria, I think Lanar and Rienna are starting again." 

Startled, she looked over. Rienna had already lit her wings, rising to prepare for the placement of the next fragment. "I meant a bit longer break than that," she muttered, but activated her own wings in resignation. "Talk to you later, Guaraha. Stephen, Peter, yell at me if the crystal starts going off course. Everything's marked, but I don't want to have to redo any of these!" 

Peter nodded fervent agreement. Once already a fragment had been sealed into place just the slightest bit off center, requiring extra effort on everyone's part to get it loose again and repeat the job correctly. 

As he watched Veria and Niama return to their task, Guaraha allowed his smile to widen a bit. It was the only bright spot in this entire business, really, the way everyone was working together, forming friendships. Veria and the Human architects Peter and Stephen. Rienna and Commander Travis. Niama and...well...just about everyone, actually. 

_And then there's Pahlan..._ Despite his retort to Niama, Guaraha knew very well the rumors and gossip that flew through the Palace about the older Wingly: specifically, concerning his relationship with Fourth Sacred Sister Setie. The only people who didn't seem to recognize that the two were falling for one another were Pahlan and Setie themselves. 

Reactions to this were numerous, some echoing Niama's 'aww, isn't that _sweet_,' others watching with guarded suspicion. Guaraha had been pleasantly surprised that none of the Humans outright condemned the possibility of such a relationship; the harshest criticism from the citizens of Deningrad so far had been a warning that 'the Wingly better not upset our Setie'. 

From the Wingly side, however... Guaraha sighed quietly, his gaze resting for a moment on Halin. The adolescent was standing near Lanar and Niama, arms folded, as though waiting for one of them to fail in lifting the current shard. He'd expressed his feelings on the matter in no uncertain terms--though, showing a surprising discretion, not where it could be overheard. _A taint on our blood and a disgrace...an outrage...an offense against the ancient wisdom and power of the Wingly people..._

Everything, in fact, that Guaraha could clearly remember Pahlan himself saying about Meru's friendship with the Humans. Astonishing how much a few short weeks had changed the elder Bardel, and meeting Humans who contradicted what he had always believed about the species. It was rather a pity that Halin couldn't see the same thing. 

"Here comes Mr. Bardel, Guaraha," Peter called, pulling the Wingly from his thoughts. Laughter touched the young Human's voice. "I think you may owe Niama an apology." 

Guaraha looked up, and had to grin at the sight. Pahlan was coming toward them, sure enough, and just beside him walked Sister Setie, Human hand lightly clasped in Wingly. "I probably do," he admitted. "Pahlan looks distracted, all right..." He raised his voice to call, "What's the report?" 

"It looks good," Pahlan replied, quickening his stride to close the distance. "The focus is even better than I'd hoped. Give it another few angles and me a couple of days to learn it, and then to instruct the people using it, and we may have some chance after all." 

Pahlan, Guaraha decided, was either stretching the truth so as not to upset Setie, or else had undergone a highly disturbing shift in character. It had never been like the older Wingly to be optimistic about much of anything. _Then again, believing that we have no chance of doing any good here would have about the same effect as believing that there's nothing to worry about, wouldn't it? We would lose whatever chance we might have..._ Maybe Pahlan had a point after all. 

But speculating on the relative merits of optimism could wait. Guaraha considered for a moment. "You and Halin spent some time talking about the theory here, didn't you? Would you say he knows enough to carry a report back?" 

Pahlan nodded. "I'm not sure anyone but Veria really understands the whole thing, but Halin's got a good grasp of our progress so far. Thinking of sending him for help, are you?" 

"Something like that, yes," Guaraha agreed. "We're going to need more people--more magic than anyone in the Forest can manage, I'm afraid." 

Setie cleared her throat and said tentatively, "What about Caron?" 

Guaraha blinked, and stared at the Human for a long moment as his mind sorted through the various implications of the suggestion. He looked up at Pahlan. "I'm an idiot," he announced mildly. 

The older Wingly grinned. "If you are, I am, too," he said. "I'd totally forgotten about Charle's people in Ulara. Do you think they'd help?" 

"I don't see why not. They're the ones who've been fighting this thing longest, after all...well thought, Setie." Guaraha smiled at the Fourth Sacred Sister. "It's a good thing _someone_ around here can remember more than their own name." 

She offered a smile in response, and Guaraha noted but chose not to comment on the quick squeeze Pahlan gave her delicate hand. 

"Is that settled, then?" Pahlan asked. "Halin carries the news back to the Forest, and gets together as much help as he can find from there and Ulara?" 

Guaraha nodded. "I'll ask him if he'll do it, of course, but it looks like our best plan." 

Above, a bright flare indicated another seal complete, and Rienna called again, "Check it!" while Peter and Stephen compared their sketches to the newest addition in silent approval. 

"Go and ask him, then," Pahlan advised. "He's not doing anything, and I expect he'll be stepping in again as soon as Veria thinks Niama's getting tired." 

"Good point." Guaraha looked over at the young Wingly's openly arrogant stance, and suppressed a sigh. Aside from the necessities of getting news back to the Forest, it might well be a good idea for Halin just to be out of the way for a little while. Not, of course, that he would mention _that_ point. "I'll, ah, be back in a few minutes." 

Halin did not deign to turn his gaze from the next segment's placing as Guaraha approached. The boy's silver-white hair ruffled slightly in the chill wind, and his tone hovered on the far edge of respect as he muttered, "What do you want?" 

Guaraha folded his arms in what felt to him like a horribly transparent attempt at nonchalance, and as Halin refused to look at him, he joined the boy in studying the ongoing work. "I'm told you know more about the theory we're using than anyone but Veria. Someone needs to report our progress to Ancestor Blano and bring more help from the Forest, and you seem to be the best choice." 

An involuntary hiss escaped Halin, and he spun toward Guaraha, who chose not to meet his angry glare. "You just want me out of the way," he accused. "Guaraha, why can't you see that this diversion of Bardel's will only bring ruin? Send _him_--separate him from the Human girl!" 

"So long as the Humans do not object, what Pahlan and Setie choose is their own business and none of mine," Guaraha reminded him. "Nor is it your business, or anyone else in the Forest, any more than my engagement with Meru, or Rienna and Lanar's marriage." 

"But she's _Human_!" Halin burst out. "You can't possibly allow--" 

"I am not _allowing_ anything," Guaraha cut him off, tone low and guarded. He hoped no one had heard that last... "I have better manners than to interfere with something that is entirely between Pahlan and Setie and her family. I had hoped you did, too." 

Halin spun away, a growl clearly audible to Guaraha. "So you're sending _me_ away instead." 

Guaraha shook his head. "The rebuilding needs Pahlan's magic, Rienna's skill, Veria's knowledge, and Lanar's experience--and surely you don't suggest sending Niama or Kedim! You're my only choice, Halin. This has to be done." 

"Fine," he muttered. "Fine. I'll go. Report progress, bring back help...sure. I'll leave now, even." He looked up, his bright crimson eyes catching Guaraha with their unbridled fury, one hand upraised in warning that came barely short of violence. "But you're going to be sorry about this, and so are they. See if you're not." 

The words hung stark in the air for a long moment, then Halin stalked off in the general direction of their borrowed housing. Guaraha watched him go, a troubled frown creasing his forehead. _Sorry,_ he thought wryly. _I've been sorry ever since I accepted the whole job..._

* * *

The trees fell behind Halin's headlong flight, snow disturbed by his wake sifting to the forest floor. Teeth clenched and eyes narrowed both against the wind of his progress and in undiminished rage, Halin shifted yet more magic to his wings, increasing his speed another notch. 

His trip back from Deningrad would be faster than the leisurely pace set by Veria's limitations, of course, more than twice as fast, maybe three times. He hadn't bothered with carrying anything much, either--there was no need. Halin expected to complete the trip long before nightfall. He was quick on his wings, no one could get there faster... 

_Except Bardel,_ and the unwilling admission stung with a chill worse than the fine snow that ground against his face. It had never bothered him much before that he couldn't teleport, when the Bardel brothers stood unquestionable leaders of all the anti-Human sentiment in the Forest. But that Pahlan Bardel, perhaps the strongest Wingly in the Forest save for Ancestor Blano, would outright betray his pure Wingly heritage--intolerable! 

And Guaraha was allowing it...influenced by the exiled Meru, no doubt, and Halin admitted that choice wasn't particularly surprising. The question, though, was how to prevent the relationship from going farther. It was perfectly obvious that Pahlan Bardel could no longer see sense on his own; something had to be done. Halin knew just the person to help. 

The paths through the forest twisted below him, but Halin paid little attention to them--he could feel the seal on the Forest clearly enough to find his way back without bothering about the Humans' roads. Sped by anger and worry, he covered the distance even more quickly than he had expected, and the sun had not yet begun to take on the tints of evening. 

Halin dipped under the branches and into the shaded hollow, to all appearances simply a dead end. Despite the Ancestor's decision to contact the Humans, the Forest was still barred against idle passers-by and curiosity-seekers. Hovering, he called more of his magic to bear, and stretched one hand toward the faint glow in midair. The seal pulsed in recognition and irised open, leaving the trail clear. Halin increased the power to his wings and flew through. 

"Welcome back, Halin!" a cheerful voice called. Halin looked up to see the current guard, and was slightly disgusted to see no one but Kairu, Meru's mother. He doubted the woman could gather enough magic for a single attack. 

But he swallowed that for the moment and smiled at her. "Thanks. I have news on the progress--is Ancestor Blano in his tower?" 

"No, actually at the moment you'll find the Ancestor up at the long-range teleporter. Caron came back earlier today with some others from Ulara, and they're working on its focus, or something of the sort." Kairu leaned forward, and the faintest hint of a frown wrinkled her forehead. "Good news, I hope?" 

Halin nodded. "The rebuilding is going very well," he said. There was no point mentioning his own concerns to Kairu. She would only get in the way. 

With a friendly wave of farewell, he left the older woman behind and flew into the village, wings humming. He had no intention of going up to the teleporter just yet. 

The entrance to Prado's home was across the pond, snug amid the weeds and not easy to find at the best of times, its glow dimmer than the normal bright green; Halin knew that the power source was such that it could be shut down at a moment's notice. This was design and not neglect--Prado had constructed his own home, though there was certainly no shortage of space. For reasons incomprehensible to most but perfectly clear to Prado's peers, at the time including the Bardels, he had made defensibility and secrecy its primary attributes. 

"The seal won't last forever," Halin remembered Prado's low warning, "and when the Humans attack us, even the Ancestor will see it's a good thing _someone_ thought ahead." Ancestor Blano had been rather critical of the project, calling it a waste of magic, and Prado had never quite forgiven him. 

Halin chose not to land on the muddy bank of the pond, instead hovering just above until he was quite certain where the teleporter was. He touched down lightly, fully cutting power to his wings only once the green light sprang up around him. 

As the light faded, Halin looked around, searching for Prado. The interior of the home was sparsely furnished and unembellished, a good fit for the older Wingly--Prado took no pleasure in comfort or decoration, never had. 

"Back already, Halin?" a voice called from the other room. Prado walked in, an ancient leather-bound book carefully cradled in his arms. "Have the--" he grimaced slightly--"the Humans attacked you, or did the exile's fiancé just fail?" 

Halin shook his head to both. "It's only me back...the Humans are accepting everything we offer, for now. Bardel and Guaraha say they're almost done and need more high-magic Winglies soon, to hold the castle against attack. That's why they sent me. But, Prado..." He hesitated, unsure how to put it, knowing it would enrage his long-admired mentor. "...it's about Bardel. I had to tell you first, I don't know what to do..." 

Prado lifted a silver eyebrow. "Not good news, I take it." 

"_Some_ would find it good." Halin scowled. "Bardel is spending large amounts of time with a Human girl, the Fourth Sacred Sister of Mille Seseau--Setie, they call her. I'm afraid he's become quite infatuated with her. There are rumors--you know Niama--rumors he might even be " He couldn't say it. 

The other got the picture nevertheless, and his expression fell into a dark displeasure. "I see why you wanted to tell me before reporting to the Ancestor. _He_ would never understand." 

Halin nodded, gratefully. Prado would know what should be done. He always did. 

"Well, we can't let this go on, of course," Prado continued. "Halin, why don't you go ahead and give me the rest of your report." 

It didn't take long to fill in the general details of what had been happening in Deningrad, and Halin hurried through it. "Kairu saw me on the way in," he finished, "so I don't know how much time I have before she might tell someone..." 

"Not likely until her shift is up," Prado said absently, his eyes distant. "But yes, we'll have to hurry..." He turned suddenly to meet the younger Wingly's gaze. "Halin, do you trust me?" 

"Of course I do," Halin affirmed at once, puzzled by the intensity in his friend's crimson eyes. 

"Then hold still. And don't ask questions." Prado set his book down on the table nearby, and reached to place one hand lightly on Halin's head. 

Halin did as instructed and held himself unmoving and silent, still confused. Prado's eyes seemed to be oddly bright, staring into his own...unless it was that everything else was darkening...why did he feel so very tired..? 

"Veria," Prado murmured, "isn't the _only_ one in the Forest with a gift for the mind powers...I just have sense enough to keep mine a secret. I'm sorry, Halin. You're loyal, but you're still too soft for this."

* * *

The long-range teleporter hummed with power, a strong sound too rarely heard in the Village. Caron examined it, frowning in concentration as she listened. "A little more, Rynal, Netti," she directed, "...there! Cut it!" 

The two younger Winglies dropped their hands, the shimmer of magic dimming from around them. The teleporter continued to gleam, fully active, and Caron nodded in satisfaction. "Very well done. It is fully recharged, Ancestor Blano," she called. 

"My thanks, Caron," Blano smiled, carefully shutting down the system. The hum faded from the air, and the hovering stones came to rest. "We haven't had this much range in centuries." 

"Neither have _we_," Rynal muttered. Netti elbowed the young man. 

Caron gave a soft laugh. "Rynal is right...the teleporter in Ulara is much improved since I applied some of the changes I saw here. Retuning your focus and recharging the reserve is only fair after what you have provided us." 

Rynal nodded eagerly. "I never thought we _could_ reach any farther," he put in. "It's been shrinking for ever since the city was founded, almost." 

"Ancestor Blano!" a voice came from below. Caron turned toward it, to see a young Wingly man she thought she recognized as one of Guaraha's companions flying quickly upward. 

Blano looked over. "Welcome back, Halin," he greeted, confirming Caron's guess. "Is there news?" 

Halin cut power to his wings and landed. "Yes, Guaraha and Bardel sent me to tell you that they're close to being finished--there's an even stronger effect than they expected, they say. They want more high-magic Winglies to come to Deningrad, so we can be ready...in case. Oh, and the Humans are cooperating," he added almost as an afterthought. He turned to Caron. "It is fortunate you are here, Caron, can you help?" 

"Of course," Caron affirmed. "I must return to Ulara shortly, but I will come to Deningrad soon with several others to assist...Rynal, Netti, will you come?" 

Her two companions stepped forward in instant agreement. "Of course we will," Netti said, and Rynal nodded. 

"We can easily use the teleporter to send you home, now," Ancestor Blano said. "Is there anything you need?" 

Caron shook her head. "Everything is in Ulara. If I may make a suggestion, though--Netti, you are better than I even at tuning a proper focus; that may be useful. Will you go ahead with Halin? I will bring anything you need from Ulara when I come." 

"Sure," the Wingly woman agreed. "My sister can tell you what I'll want if we're staying a while." 

"There's no time to lose," Halin said abruptly. "We should go now." 

The Ancestor shot him a curious glance, but stepped toward the activation point. "If you are certain. Netti, Halin, you first. I will set the coordinates." 

"See you later, Caron! Rynal!" Netti called cheerfully, landing on the metallic pad with something between a skip and a leap. Halin followed her more sedately. 

The teleporter's hum rose again, scaling smoothly up to the breakpoint--then the two were gone in a flash of pale green. 

Ancestor Blano was frowning at where they had been. Noting it, Caron inquired, "Is something wrong?" 

"I don't...know," Blano said, lingering a moment over the words. "Something seemed different about Halin...I cannot say quite what it was...but I do not like the change..."

* * *

The teleporter placed them just outside the borders of a city, Netti saw, turning to take in the view. A gently rolling plain stretched out behind them to the edge of what had to be the Evergreen Forest. 

She turned again to examine the city, eyes darting everywhere at once in excitement. It was easily larger than Ulara, and even though walls and buildings lay in ruins she could see it had been a lovely place. Where the frames of new homes appeared in areas cleared of rubble, the work was careful yet swift--there was nothing ill-considered or careless in the repair work, though some of the Humans appeared to be making do with tents until it was finished. 

The glimmer in the sky drew her attention at last to the crystalline spires towering above, an intricate but nearly complete pattern. This was what Blano's representatives had been working on, she remembered, and smiled happily to see it going so well. Even as she watched, a distant speck moved with the glow of wings, and a subtle resonance alerted her to the active spells. 

A hand shoved her roughly from behind. "Well, stop gaping and let's go," Halin snapped at her, pushing by into the city. 

Netti stared openmouthed at the boy. _What was_ that _for?_ she thought, resentment dimming the excitement of getting to see a new and fascinating place. _It's a wonder there aren't open battles if this is the way these Forest Winglies act!_

But that wasn't fair, she reminded herself charitably, Ancestor Blano had been impeccably courteous and so had everyone else she spoke to. This Halin was probably under a lot of stress, and tired. He had just flown all the way to the Forest, after all. 

She gathered her wide skirts and hurried after him, not wanting to get lost. The skirts were no hindrance when Netti flew, which was her preferred mode of travel, but right now she wished she had given in to the trim style many of her friends had adopted. It wouldn't feel right somehow to go flying about in front of all these Humans, and Halin didn't seem in any mood to wait for her. 

She caught a few curious glances from the Humans about the streets, but no hostility. No one ventured to speak with her, probably because she was so obviously in a hurry, and Netti rather regretted the necessity. It would have been nice to spend at least a few minutes in conversation. Well, that would have to wait. 

Ahead, Halin went between two buildings, around a corner, and out of sight. Netti gave up on looking even semi-dignified and sprinted. 

And slammed at full speed into something that gave way with a yelp, tumbling to the cobbled stones with a painful jolt. Gasping to regain her breath, Netti couldn't see anything for a long moment. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, my fault," she choked out, horribly embarrassed. Here she had just been criticizing Halin's bad manners, and she ran smack into someone! 

"Quite all right," a light male voice responded, still recovering his own breath from the sound of it. 

Netti finally blinked her vision clear and began scrambling to her feet, gratefully accepting the aid of an extended hand. She looked up to see a tall young man in drab-colored clothing, with--_wait_. Platinum hair? "You're a Wingly!" she blurted. 

"I could say the same to you," the man replied, laughter in his voice. "With rather more cause, since I certainly thought I knew all the Winglies in Deningrad. I'm Kedim. You must be from Ulara?" 

She nodded, feeling her face grow hot. "Caron sent me with Halin, to see if I could be any help. My name is Netti." 

Kedim bowed slightly. "A pleasure to meet you, Netti, and your help will be much appreciated, I'm sure. I thought I saw Halin dashing through here a minute ago!" he added, frowning. "What's he in such a hurry about that he forgot you like that?" 

"I'm sure I have no idea," Netti said, and didn't quite succeed in eliminating her irritation from the words. 

He looked at her and offered an arm. "Well, never mind that, I don't know what gets into Halin sometimes. Shall I introduce you to everyone? You'll need to talk to Guaraha and Veria, and probably Bardel, if you're up to getting to work right away. We're awfully close to finishing, it's gone remarkably well. Veria says maybe even by tomorrow." 

"Certainly," Netti said happily, laying one hand on his elbow. "It's all so beautiful here! I wish I'd been able to see it before the Dragon attacked." 

Kedim nodded. "Me, too. I never imagined a Human city would be like _this_. And I've really come to admire the Humans--even after the attack, picking up and rebuilding like they are." 

Above, the sunset turned the crystal spires into prisms sparkling in orange and crimson. Netti looked up in wonder, but the looming orb of the Moon broke into her bright mood. She stared at it with something very like hatred. _How long, how long...?_

A comforting squeeze drew her attention, and she found Kedim watching her in understanding. "We'll manage," he murmured. "Or they will. It will be all right." 

"It'll be all right," Netti repeated, clinging to the words in desperate hope. _Of course it will. Of course. Rose and the Dragoons will prevent it, or destroy it, or Charle will manage something like the first time, or we'll hold it back here._ She glared up at the Moon again. _See that? You haven't won yet, and you never will._

* * *

The chairs were too soft, the bed was too flat, the window was too large and the wrong shape, the sunlight was too bright, and once it got dark the lamp they'd provided didn't even come close to matching the regular magical illumination in the Forest. The walls and floor were cold stone instead of living wood and woven carpeting. And the Humans--the Humans--the Humans-- 

_Setie..._

--were...well, he could not clear his mind long enough to finish a single thought, which was mostly her fault. 

_It was so much easier just hating them,_ Pahlan decided with a sigh. Not that he would or even could go back to that. Not now. The sight of his sister's broken body had somehow been replaced with the sound of her blithe laughter, silvery hair blown wild in the wind...Tiala staring wistfully into the distance, her whispers about how much bigger the world was than the Forest...and a keen regret that he had never been able to introduce Tiala to Setie. They would have been such friends. 

He looked down at the parchment in front of him, determined to get back to work on his calculations, and was mildly horrified to read instead of mathematical formulas _Living gold, your hair brighter than sunshine/Purest sapphire, you have looked into my heart..._

Pahlan swiftly tore off that edge of the paper, ripped it into several fragments and stuffed it into the unlit fireplace. Poetry? Him? And it wasn't even _good_ poetry. This had definitely gone much farther than he had ever expected. 

There was a gentle tap on the door. Pahlan glanced at the fireplace swiftly to be sure the words were well buried in the ash. "Come in," he called. 

Guaraha entered, closing the door behind himself. "Is anything wrong, Pahlan?" he asked, with a concerned frown. 

Pahlan tried to laugh and failed, the sound coming out half-choked. "Why would anything be wrong?" 

The frown deepened. "Well, I wouldn't know, but Veria said you're--I quote--broadcasting enough anxiety it's a wonder they don't hear you in Ulara." Guaraha found an empty chair and dragged it up beside the desk. "Though I do have my guess. Her name's Setie." 

The laugh was slightly more genuine this time, if tinged with mild self-deprecation. "Have I been that obvious?" 

"Well, yes, rather," Guaraha admitted with a smile. "Care to talk about it?" 

Pahlan hesitated a long moment, but finally nodded. "I suppose I need to, and no one better than you." He rested his arms on the desk, gazing blindly down. "I love her. I love her, and I can't bear the thought of going back to the Forest without her. She's light and joy and life--Guaraha, I haven't felt really happy since Tiala died, until now...but...she's Human, and I'm Wingly, and how can it ever work?" 

"Why shouldn't it work?" 

That drew a startled glance. "What?" 

Guaraha held out a hand, palm up. "I don't want vague generalizations, Pahlan. Give me some solid reasons, and we'll see how well they hold up. I don't deny I've been giving the matter some thought, too." 

Settling back in his chair in silent acquiescence, Pahlan hesitated for a long moment, then said, "Prejudice. People in the Forest won't be happy with the thought, and some Humans probably won't either." 

"Granted, but you know quite well the people who will have a problem with it will have a problem with any interaction at all. The isolationists in the Forest will protest, but they're going to have to get over it--maybe this can even help, seeing how much you've changed. Among the Humans, it's mostly a lack of knowledge, lack of trust, and the only way they'll get over that is if we Winglies show we can be trusted." 

There was a moment's silence, as Pahlan turned that statement over and found a new objection. "If there were children...is it even possible, across species? What would they be like? How would they be treated, by both groups?" 

"I've been thinking about that," Guaraha admitted. "You know how we were all startled by the Second Sacred Sister's telepathy? I can't help but wonder if there isn't some Wingly ancestry in her bloodline. All this time...Meru can't be the first one who's ever left the Forest. And then there's this possibility of other Wingly communities." He shrugged. "As for treatment, yes, there probably will be some prejudice, but anyone who really matters will see reason." 

"Prado's group will say it's tainting the bloodline, when there are so few Winglies left," Pahlan pointed out. 

"I really don't think you'd have been likely to marry anyone else, Pahlan. They ought to be pleased that you're making any contribution. Besides, if Wingly heritage can be passed on to Humans, there's a much better chance of us not being forgotten." 

Pahlan nodded ruefully. "You're probably right about that. Ah...age difference? Setie's so much younger than I am..." 

Guaraha snorted softly. "Getting desperate for reasons, Pahlan? That's ridiculous and you know it. At the different rates of aging, you're quite well matched. With two years' engagement or so, there shouldn't be any problem at all." 

"But where would we live?" Pahlan asked plaintively. 

At this, Guaraha laughed outright, and reminded him, "_Every_ young couple has to come up with an answer to that. And I think you'd better have a few other things settled first. But you know Ancestor Blano wouldn't make you leave, and I'm pretty sure Queen Theresa would be about the same." 

The older Wingly raised his hands in surrender. "All right, all right. I'm being self-pitying and foolish, and you've shown that clear enough, thanks." 

Guaraha folded his arms, with a grin. "Happy to help." He hesitated. "Do you know what you're going to do?" 

Pahlan lowered his gaze to the desk again and let out a slow breath. "Yes," he said at last. "I'm going to ask Queen Theresa and the other Sacred Sisters if they would object to an engagement. Then I'm going to find out if Setie feels anything like the same." He looked up, meeting Guaraha's gaze. "I know it would usually be the other way around, but I _won't_ be a cause for anger between Setie and her family." 

The intensity in the statement forced an approving nod. "That's hard, but I think you're right," Guaraha agreed, and leaned forward, crimson eyes intent. "Now I'm going to tell you what my father told me, a long time ago. Love between husband and wife, Pahlan, the kind of love that lasts, is half emotion and half commitment. Alone, emotion fades; alone, commitment grows cold and hard--they are two halves and cannot be separated. It's obvious you have the emotion. Will you be able to commit to this, as well?" 

Pahlan didn't look away, but the question shook him, finding echoes in memory. _Commitment...as Guaraha offered to Meru,_ he thought, remembering the unwilling admiration that had been a first step on the journey out of bitterness. And the pain that choice had cost his young friend, so far... _Will I be able to commit to Setie like that?_

The answer came slowly, dragged from a heart unused to softness and long scarred by pain. _Setie deserves no less from me._ "Yes," he said quietly, and had to turn his face back toward the desk, hoping Guaraha wouldn't catch the glitter of emotion in his eyes. "Yes, if Setie and her family are willing, I'll make that commitment." 

A hand grasped his shoulder in brief expression of support. "I know you will." Guaraha took half a step toward the door--paused. "But that isn't all, Pahlan, is it? Something else is bothering you." 

Pahlan shuddered. _Yes. Yes, it is._ "Don't ask, Guaraha..." 

"I'm your friend, Pahlan--if it's bothering you, I want you to tell me," Guaraha insisted. 

The older Wingly swallowed, half-raised a limp hand, and forced the reluctant words to come. "Setie, she's...I'm...I don't deserve her, Guaraha, I've spent half my life hating Humans--plotting murder! How could she possibly consider...?" 

There was a long pause. "That I understand," Guaraha said at last, voice tight. "Oh, that I understand very well, Pahlan. But don't think you're the only one who's felt that way." 

Pahlan looked up, and winced at the open pain in his friend's eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--" 

He waved it off. "I know. It isn't your fault. Something that might help, though...remember, if you thought you did deserve her, you certainly wouldn't." Something less than half a smile tugged at his mouth. "And it isn't up to you--it's her choice." 

With a sigh, Pahlan nodded. "It does help." 

"Not much else to say, then," Guaraha shrugged. "I'll leave you to your work." 

The door clicked shut. Pahlan stared at the parchment, scarcely seeing the numbers written there for long moments. 

He shook his head sharply, clearing it. Concentration came easier now, and he made a mental note to thank Guaraha sometime later. For now, if there was going to be any chance at making that commitment to Setie, these calculations had to be done; if his neglect caused them to lose the possibility of saving the world, there would be no future to consider.

* * *

There was no one between Pahlan's downstairs bedroom and his own upstairs, for which Guaraha was grateful. He didn't want to have to deal with more problems just then. 

_I don't deserve her,_ Pahlan's voice echoed in memory, _how could she consider...?_ Guaraha shut the door to his room firmly and sat down, letting himself sink into the soft Human bed. The words had hit home, and Pahlan had recognized it. _I don't deserve her..._

How long had it been? A year after the engagement...three years now? Arguments had been common enough, one of Meru's favorite pastimes really, but this had always been their only major conflict..._Come with me,_ she'd pleaded, _come and see! There's a world outside..._

And he'd refused, too much of a coward to leave, too afraid of the community's anger, of the finality of the Ancestor's commandment. Her patience had worn out at last..._Why don't you just break the engagement, if what people think matters so much more to you than I do! I will go, Guaraha, and if you won't come you might as well be free to marry someone with ideas you like better._

_You can't go,_ he'd replied, _and neither can I. I love you, Meru...but don't ask me to leave the Forest._

At last she had lost patience with him and slipped out, without so much as saying good-bye. She'd known he would have tried to stop her, would have refused to come, would probably have gotten her into deeper trouble with the Ancestor and everyone else. Stubborn, heartless...it'd be little wonder if Meru had chosen not to wait for him. There wasn't much about him worth waiting for. 

But she'd asked again when she returned. That gave him hope. _Come out with me, Guaraha!_

_I can't..._ He'd wanted to, how he'd wanted to! But to break probation--he couldn't... 

He should have. Guaraha heaved a sigh, admitting his foolishness. If it had meant enough to him, if _she_ had meant enough to him, he could have gone with her. He could be with her now, helping her, he'd know what was happening... 

A knock at the door pulled him back from introspection. Hastily, he stood and rubbed a hand across his face before going over to answer. 

Kedim stood outside, and beside him a Wingly woman Guaraha didn't know; her thick, full-skirted dress with its similarity to Caron's and her young appearance made for a pretty clear guess as to why that was. 

"Guaraha, this is Netti, from Ulara," Kedim introduced in confirmation. 

The woman dipped her head in courtesy. "I'm here to help however I can. Caron sent me. Others will be here as soon as they can." 

She didn't share Caron's formality, Guaraha noted with interest. He bowed slightly in response. "It's very good to meet you, Netti. As soon as Pahlan Bardel finishes the last few calculations, we'll be setting up to actually use this thing...and none of us have near enough power to get much advantage." The Ularan Wingly had a power level easily twice Pahlan's, even Guaraha could sense that. 

"I've only seen a glimpse of the crystal, but it looks like your group's done a wonderful job," Netti said. "And so quickly! Ancestor Blano obviously made the right choices in sending you all." 

Guaraha grinned in spite of himself. "Well, thank you." He considered a moment. "Pahlan is working on the calculations now, based on what's been done already--I'll introduce you to him, and perhaps you can make some suggestions."

* * *

After they'd succeeded in sealing the last large shard into place, Veria had sent Kedim, Lanar, and the human architects off on their own tasks; Bardel had gone already, Guaraha, after speaking with Veria, not long after. Rienna, Niama, and Veria had stayed some time later, going over every seal and angle to check for accuracy. The structure had to be right in order to be ready for the next day's fine-tuning, the smaller shards that would make the focus stronger yet. 

At last, Rienna let the probing spell drop, releasing Niama's magic. With a breath of relief--it was a considerable strain to hold the support position for so long--Niama pulled it back to herself. "You've barely left me enough to fly," she complained teasingly. 

Rienna landed, and instantly Niama regretted her words. The older woman's face was drawn with exhaustion and very pale, and her wings flickered out as though they could be held no longer. "Don't _you_ go whining," she muttered, breath shallow. "Holding control's no easier, and I don't have anyone to switch with." 

In wordless apology, Niama reached to lay a hand on Rienna's shoulder, and forced a little of her own magic through it--a gift this time, not a loan. She added a minor healing spell, and was relieved to see a little of the grayness fade from Rienna's face. Her own reserves were low, but a short rest would mend that. Rienna was on the verge of collapse from mental and physical exhaustion. 

"You need to get to bed, Rienna," Veria directed, concern clear in her face. "Lanar will know where you are." 

She nodded and turned for their guesthouse, head bent against a growing breeze, feet dragging painfully slow. Niama watched, worried. "Veria, you can't let her work tomorrow. She's way overstrained." 

"I know it," Veria acknowledged. "But it's only the secondary segments tomorrow. I could seal those myself if I had to. You and Kedim should manage easily." She sighed. "I shouldn't have let her go on, but it _was_ important, and I could feel she'd have given me no end of argument if I'd tried to stop her." 

"Will she be all right?" an anxious voice asked from behind. Niama turned in some surprise to see Setie standing a few feet away. 

"Rienna will be fine," Veria assured the Human girl. "She just needs some time to recover." 

Setie smiled relief. "I'd hate it if any of you were hurt trying to help us..." She turned to Niama. "I was just wondering if you were done for the day, because Lenita brought some things over she thought you might like to try on. " 

"We're done," Niama said at once, then thought to look at Veria. "I mean, we'd _better_ be done," she added. 

Veria laughed. "You can go. I'm going to stick around here a while longer, I want to make sure I know what I'm talking about when I go to discuss focusing angles with Bardel..." 

"Don't wait too long," Niama advised. "You're tired, too, you know. Keep staring at this crystal and you won't be awake enough to add, much less figure angles." 

A slow, reluctant yawn forced its way out; Veria covered it, shaking her head in amusement. "True enough. But run along."

* * *

Notes: I know it's been forever, and I'm not sure anyone even remembers this thing anymore...I haven't given up on it, just been very slow. No promises on when Part Four and the epilogue will be done, I'm afraid. Part Four should be significantly more eventful than this one; quite possibly longer as well, to fit everything in. The title for that will be 'Hope Beyond Despair'. 

All comments are welcome. 

If the poem at the top sounds familiar, it's because it's from my pre-game fic Crystal Shard. Actually, a large part of the inspiration for it. That's how long I've had this fic planned out...pathetic, really, how long it's taking. 


	4. Hope Beyond Despair

Here I Must Wait, Part Four: Hope Beyond Despair 

Here I Must Wait   
by DawningStar 

Part Four: Hope Beyond Despair 

_...though all else fail and fall, these remain:   
love beyond death,   
hope beyond despair.   
--Unknown poet of the Dragon Campaign era, believed Human; copies preserved in Ulara_

The unfamiliar lacings steadfastly refused to lay flat despite several minutes spent in the attempt. Frowning, Niama finally gave up, bringing the ends together in an awkward knot and tugging the blouse down to cover it. She pulled the curtain back with a grin. "Well? What do you think?" 

An indrawn breath. "Oh, that's lovely, Niama," Setie declared. "It's a perfect color for you, and the trim matches your eyes." 

Niama turned about, looking down at herself. The Human cloth was not quite as thick as its equivalent in the Forest, probably some difference in the weave, but layers made it warm enough. The patterned green skirt was also longer than the typical rust-red outfit young women in the Forest wore. The overall effect, Niama thought, was quite good--though of course it really wasn't made for modesty in flight, she'd have to be careful about that. A few modifications. 

Satisfied with the appearance, she took the seat opposite Setie's chair and reached for her shoes. The color wouldn't be quite right, her own boots a pale tan that contrasted poorly with the green and deep crimson, but she had no intention of using the matching, thin slippers now. Inside perhaps, for a special occasion of some sort--but not for walking outside. It was far too cold. 

"I'll have to thank Lenita," she commented, fastening both sides. "This is really marvelous...she's going to get a lot of business from my friends if the Ancestor allows it." 

"Niama..." 

She looked up, caught by the hesitant tone. Setie's hands twisted nervously in her lap. A small frown furrowed Niama's forehead at the sight--it wasn't like her carefree Human friend to be so uneasy. "Well?" she prodded gently. "What is it?" 

The young blonde looked up, her blue eyes troubled. "Niama...there's...a lot of prejudice against Humans in your forest, isn't there?" 

Niama sat back in the cushioned chair. "Sometimes," she conceded. "A few people. More just think that Humans and Winglies are too different to get along together. But I figure that once we get to _know_ one another, it'll all work out. _We_'re friends, right?" 

A pale echo of Setie's normal smile forced its way to her lips. "Right." 

"Why do you ask?" Niama inquired. 

The Sacred Sister shook her head swiftly. "Nothing. Never mind--just something I'd wondered about." 

_At a guess, Setie dear, I'd say it has something to do with the proud Bardel...but fine, if you prefer to keep it to yourself. I understand that well enough._ "If you say so. Is that everything you wanted to talk about?" 

A tinge of red touched her cheeks. "Niama...ah, what are the marriage customs in your forest?" 

"Now, that's more what I thought you were going to ask," Niama said in amusement. 

The faint color in the Human's face spread to become a full-fledged blush. "That is, if you don't mind too much, of course..." 

"Of course I don't mind." She leaned forward, gathering her thoughts. "Let's see...in the Forest, usually everyone knows when a couple gets together, because it's so small. Once the two of them realize it--they're usually the last to know, it's very amusing--then the older one goes to the family of the younger and requests permission for an engagement. Usually that lasts about two or three years, then they get married and move into their own home." 

Setie nodded. "That's not too different from our customs. Most engagements are shorter than that, but it makes sense. What's the wedding like?" 

"Ancestor Blano has done every wedding in the Forest in generations...it's a pretty simple ceremony, the couple makes their pledges in front of everyone and the Ancestor blesses them and reminds them to be faithful. Then everybody cheers and there's a lot of food." Niama grinned. "I've always been fond of the food." 

"Bishop Dille does most of the weddings here in Deningrad. But that's really very similar." 

Niama watched Setie's eyes drift to a distant gaze, and tried very hard not to laugh. It was working! She hadn't tried to manipulate Pahlan Bardel too much for fear he would get suspicious, but Setie was more approachable and less wary of her...and really, there hadn't been much manipulation to do. Setie was a romantic girl, and Bardel's all too apparent loneliness together with an immediate liking for him had gone a long way in shaping her thoughts. Niama had simply done her best to provide an atmosphere of support for the concept. 

"Niama..." Setie began, anxiety touching her voice, "do you think..." 

Someone knocked, an irregular tapping. Setie cut off sharply and turned toward it. Niama, who had a pretty good guess at what Setie had been about to ask, bit back a frustrated sigh and stood. "What is it?" she inquired, opening the door. 

A very young Human boy blinked up at her hesitantly--dark-haired, with the usual deep blue cap. "Um, Mr. Halin said Mr. Bardel wanted to see Sister Setie as soon as possible, Miss Niama." He added a clumsy bow, grabbing at the cap barely in time to prevent its fall. "Over by the palace." 

_Oh, well, in_ that _case..._ Niama thought, and smiled at Setie. "Better go. I'll see you later." 

Setie grinned back and headed for the door, closing it quietly behind her. 

Niama gave her friend a silent count of a hundred before deciding it was safe to follow, slipping discreetly out the door and aiming for the palace with a nonchalant air. She didn't want to get in the way, but a glance wouldn't hurt anything... 

Deningrad's chill spring air gusted by, catching at the thinner Human material and making Niama wish she'd worn her own coat over it. But that would have spoiled the outfit's effect...oh well. Niama laughed silently at herself, fully conscious of her stylistic absurdities and enjoying them. 

Irritation crept in a moment later, as she crossed the edge of the cleared area in front of the palace without seeing any trace of either Setie or Bardel. _Where are they?_ she wondered. Couldn't blame them for wanting some privacy, perhaps, since even now with no active work scheduled, there were a number of people around. 

The sound of throbbing wings made her look up, to find Veria some distance above. Niama looked around once more, gave up with a shrug, and lit her own wings, rising into the air--taking some care to keep guard on her unfamiliar skirt. "Hey, Veria!" she called. 

The younger girl turned with a startled smile. "Hello, Niama--showing off your new clothes?" 

"Maybe," Niama admitted, grinning wryly. "And trying to satisfy my curiosity. Bardel sent word for Setie to meet him around here, have you seen either of them?" 

"Bardel?" Veria frowned. "I saw Halin a second ago--did you know he came back? I asked him how things had gone and he told me to mind my own business, so of course I followed him around for a bit. He was headed for the other side of the palace. And I saw Setie going in that direction. But I haven't seen Bardel at all, not since he left to work on his calculations." 

"The Human who brought the message said Halin had sent it for Bardel," Niama remembered. An uneasy feeling began to settle in her stomach. "I didn't think about it..." 

Veria winced slightly and began to head swiftly downward. "It's going to be an argument, then, if all three of them end up in the same place. We'd better get over there. I don't quite trust their tempers." 

Following, Niama scanned the surrounding area of the city again. "I know you don't like using telepathy casually, but could you...?" 

Veria's eyes fell half-shut even as Niama asked, her wings fading the moment her feet touched the ground to shift more concentration to the search. "Setie's awfully frightened," she murmured. "Don't know how I didn't hear that...she's...that way." A hand lifted to indicate the direction. "We'd better hurry." 

Wings sprang into existence once more, and the two sped around the palace's curve.

* * *

A handspan to illustrate the distance on the paper--Pahlan shook his head sharply. "There isn't enough room for that many people, even if we had people who could combine that level of magic safely! Five or six high-level Winglies is the best hope. Anyone else can act as defense, to give them more time." 

"You don't understand! Look, see here, watch these angles--" Netti traced the sharp points of crystal in the diagram. 

"I know they're designed for focusing magic, that's what I--" 

"--yes, for focusing, but you don't just have to project the magic..." She looked up, glaring at Pahlan's skeptical expression. "Would you _listen_ to me? I'll have you know I'm a lot older than you. Show some respect." 

Guaraha could only listen in polite incomprehension as Pahlan and Netti argued over the specifics of the structure's capabilities, but at that, he cleared his throat mildly. "Perhaps this should wait until Veria can be here..." 

"Certainly," the Ularan agreed, still glaring at Pahlan. "Maybe she'll pay some attention to what I'm trying to say." 

Pahlan glared right back. "Maybe _you'll_ pay more attention when she tells you what I'm trying to." 

Shaking his head, Guaraha pushed his chair back--the three were at the communal table, which had more room than Pahlan's desk for spreading out the diagrams. "I don't know half of what you two are trying to say, but I think it has to be easier than you're making it..." 

A muffled noise drew his attention to Netti. The Ularan woman had one fist pressed against her mouth, and she was visibly shaking with suppressed laughter, eyes merry. 

Pahlan raised an eyebrow at her, and a slow smile began to creep onto his face. "We _are_ being a little ridiculous, aren't we?" 

The laughter broke loose. Netti doubled over the table, raised a hand, and tried to say something through her mirth--failed, tried again. "I know what it is! You thought I meant trying to fit everyone _inside_ the palace!" 

Pahlan blinked, slowly. "And you meant..._oh_." 

Fascinated, Guaraha watched his friend turn very pink. 

"Er, I may owe you an apology, then," Pahlan added. 

Netti waved it off, still chuckling. "I've needed a laugh like that for several thousand years...don't worry about it. Now...perhaps we really should wait for this Veria?" 

With a slight frown, Pahlan looked toward the door. "I had actually expected her back some time ago. There aren't any active spells, so they have to be done..." 

Guaraha reached mentally, confirmed that the crystal resonance had faded. He hadn't been paying attention. "Perhaps we should go and see how things went, then." 

"I hope..." Pahlan trailed off, his expression still distant. 

Replacing his chair in its proper position, Guaraha looked up, worried. Pahlan stared into nothing, frowning. 

"Something's wrong..." he half-whispered. 

Netti looked between him and the door, looked to Guaraha. "I can't feel anything," she confessed, "I don't have any range at all for detection, Caron says I'm not patient enough. Do you...?" 

"Not much." He stretched anyway. There was no hint of anything dangerous, magically, none of the telltale pressure. 

Pahlan's eyes went abruptly wide. "It's Setie," he gasped, turned a frantic gaze on Guaraha. "She needs help--near the palace--" 

A flicker of light, and the last Bardel had teleported away. Guaraha blinked the remnant of the sudden flash out of his eyes, turned to Netti. "Let's go!" 

She nodded, eyes echoing concern and confusion, shoved back her chair and dashed with him out the door.

* * *

"Setie?" 

It was Luanna's voice, and Setie halted and turned at once, despite an intense curiosity as to why Pahlan would send for her like this instead of just coming to find her. Luanna had others to serve as her eyes at need, but Setie would always answer that call. The Second Sacred Sister had been her closest friend for almost as long as she could remember. "Yes, Luanna?" 

The blind woman was standing at the edge of the steps. One of the maids accompanied her, a hand on her arm. "Setie, is everything going well? With the rebuilding, and with the Wingly delegation?" 

"Oh yes--everything is well," Setie replied at once. "Veria and Niama say that the major segments of crystal are all in place. It's been very quick work. Several of them are tired, but everything's well." 

Luanna's strained expression didn't relax. "You're certain?" 

She thought about it. Luanna's misgivings were never to be taken lightly. "Well, as far as I know..." There had been a few arguments between Winglies, between Humans, between Winglies and Humans, but nothing too hostile, nothing unexpected under the stress the project placed on all of them. "And Pahlan said things were okay." 

Her adoptive sister smiled at that. "Well, if Pahlan said it, of course," she teased gently. 

Setie felt her cheeks warm, knew that Luanna could sense her embarrassment better than any sight would allow. 

Luanna stretched a hand in her general direction. Setie took the three steps between them, let the hand fall on her shoulder. "We'll always be with you," Luanna murmured. "We love you. Don't forget that." 

Resting her hand on Luanna's, Setie nodded, her throat tight enough to make speaking difficult. "I know it," she whispered, smiling. 

"Good." Luanna drew back, her expression returning to its usual reserved calm. 

In an attempt to do the same, Setie cleared her throat. "What made you think something might be wrong?" she asked. 

Luanna shook her head, the frown creeping back. "I'm not sure. Maybe it's just that everyone's under a lot of pressure, with all of this." 

"Well, I'll keep an eye out," Setie promised. She hesitated. "Tell someone if it gets clearer, won't you? I'm wondering if you're sensing the creature they..." A darting glance upward, to the luminous orb of the Moon. 

"That could be it," Luanna agreed, "though it doesn't seem to fit, quite." She sighed. "Anyway, you go on. I'll tell you if I figure anything out." 

"Okay." Setie reached over to touch her sister's arm in farewell. "See you later." 

A few seconds' walking took her around the curve of the palace, to the side thrown into shadow by the setting sun. Light broke on the newly repaired crystalline spires, blood-red fragments dancing across the flagstones: some subtle characteristic of the material did not allow an unchanging refraction. Setie looked around uncertainly. The effect was very pretty, but she always had a difficult time seeing through it. 

"Over here, Sister Setie," came a soft call. 

Setie shaded her eyes with one hand to block the dazzle of the sunset, trying to identify the man. Platinum hair, but not Pahlan's voice, or young Kedim's. "Halin?" she guessed, walking closer. "Where's Pahlan?" 

The light shifted as the sun lowered itself into a bed of violet clouds, and Setie frowned at Halin's expression: a smile, but somehow wrong, and not at all friendly. "Bardel isn't here," the Wingly said, stepping out to meet her as he raised one hand in what was apparently a casual gesture, a wave in Setie's direction. "You _are_ obsessed, though, aren't you?" 

Setie felt her face heat yet again, but this time there was a fair amount of anger in it as well. She opened her mouth to demand the Wingly show better manners-- 

And no sound at all escaped. She blinked, frozen for an instant in shock. 

Halin moved swiftly closer, one hand clamping painfully on Setie's upper arm. She jerked back, with a soundless cry of pained fear; soundless, because again she could force not a squeak to come from her mouth. His grip was too tight, though, and in another moment Setie found herself with her back to a corner in the crystal wall. In terror, she flailed at him with her one free fist--he didn't even flinch. 

"It's a very simple spell," he told her conversationally. "Though not well-known." Setie could hear a rasp of metal on leather, and twisted once more in a frantic effort at escape, pounding one heel into the Wingly's foot. He didn't so much as wince at that, either. 

"I am sorry it'll be so messy," he added. "They'd sense me if I used enough magic to do the job, you see." A faint sigh. "You never should have gone after Bardel, Human." 

He brought the sharp hunting knife toward her throat. Setie grabbed his wrist, with the strength of adrenaline braced her arm to keep it away...slowly, slowly, the Wingly forced her hand and the knife backward... 

_Pahlan, Luanna, Queen Theresa, anyone, help me!_ she wailed, silently, desperately. But no one would see anything back here, and she couldn't scream aloud. 

A flash of white light, behind Halin, sharp as a knife against the growing shadows--distracted, Halin began to turn toward it, the pressure on Setie's arm slackening. 

With a roar like a wounded bear, Pahlan Bardel charged toward Halin, wings lit and pulsing brightly. He hit with a shock that threw Setie hard against the crystal wall, torn from her attacker's grip--breath knocked from her, she sat there panting and trembling in incredulous relief. The knife clattered to the ground beside her. 

"How _dare_ you?" Pahlan demanded of the younger Wingly, whom he held pinned to the ground. "How dare you betray her? Betray us?" 

The sound of more wings--Setie looked up to see Veria and Niama swoop around the corner, Niama's skirt flaring behind her. "What _happened_?" Niama asked as she landed beside the Human, her crimson eyes wide in worry. "Setie, are you okay?" 

Setie waved anxiously at Pahlan--he was more in need of help than she was, she just couldn't talk. Hard to say that, of course. 

Trapped under Pahlan's weight, Halin had gone oddly still. So had Pahlan... 

Approaching them warily, Veria gasped. "Niama, help me!" she commanded, landing, grasping Pahlan's shoulder and throwing all her weight into pulling him away from Halin. "Something's wrong, he--" 

"Setie!" Luanna called fearfully, rounding the opposite edge of the castle just then, the blind woman outpacing the maid with her by half a step. "Are you--what's happening?" 

"Halin, what is _wrong_ with you?" Niama scolded the young Wingly, yanking at his hands. They were locked firmly on Pahlan's head. Setie struggled up, worry resurging. Pahlan didn't make a sound, rolling limply at Veria's tugs. 

Niama gave up on yanking, leaned over, and bit the back of Halin's thumb, hard. The grip came loose in reflex. "Halin--!" she began. 

His wings lit, carrying him abruptly out of their grasp. "Nothing at all is wrong with me," the young Wingly smiled. 

"Except," Luanna said, grimly, stepping forward to stand beside Setie, "that you aren't Halin." 

He shrugged mild acceptance of that. "I'm doing what his brother," a nod at Pahlan, "--what Sacan had the sense to do and he doesn't, nor do any of you. I'm preventing his betrayal. I did hope I could do it discreetly, but now--" Hands lifted, magic building orange in them. 

"What use is Wingly superiority if the world ends?" Niama cried. 

"What use is the world if Winglies aren't superior?" he threw back at her, the magic still building-- 

He was watching Niama. He was watching Pahlan. He was even watching Setie and Luanna. But he failed to see the determination on Veria's face as she ducked her head, lit her wings, and rushed at him. 

He managed to look a little shocked as her hands gripped his own head. 

All at once, everything was silent. Niama ran to get underneath, softening the fall a little--the glowing wings of Veria and the attacker both had flickered and gone out, along with the attack he'd been summoning. They dropped the three feet sharply, knocking Niama down with them, though she succeeded in keeping their heads from hitting the ground. 

Niama pulled herself to her feet, staring from one to the other. It looked as though they were unconscious, collapsed limply on the cobblestones; neither was touching the other now, but Setie was fairly certain somehow that the battle wasn't over. 

Pahlan groaned, and sat up. Setie darted to him, flinging her arms around him, his gentle hand on her back all the comfort she needed. 

He drew away, frowning at her. "That's a _weird_ spell," he commented, and touched her throat with a hand that sparkled faintly. 

Setie coughed experimentally, was thrilled to hear the sound, and settled back against Pahlan. "No one could hear me call for help, I thought I was--I thought--" Tears dampened Pahlan's shirt. 

A little awkwardly, he wiped her cheek. "I heard you," he whispered. "Winglies know when someone they love is in danger..." 

"Veria?" Niama was calling, voice increasingly strident. "Veria, wake _up_! Veria, please, you're scaring me, wake up!" 

Recalled abruptly to the present situation, Setie and Pahlan looked toward her. Niama knelt on the ground beside Veria, Halin about a foot away. Luanna stood over them--there was no sign of the young maid, who had presumably run away. Quite possibly the most sensible of all of them, Setie thought wryly. 

"What did you mean, he wasn't Halin?" Pahlan asked Luanna, pushing himself to his feet and extending a hand to help Setie up. "He still looks like Halin to me..." 

Luanna shook her head. "I don't know how he looks, but it was not Halin doing this. Halin was disapproving and suspicious, but never murderous. He would not go this far--and he did not." 

Niama frowned. "But how...who...?" 

Carefully, Luanna lowered herself to the ground, and felt about until her hand rested on Halin's forehead. "A three-way battle," she murmured, and sighed. "Setie, you're all right?" 

"Pahlan saved me," Setie said. "I'm not hurt." 

"Good." Luanna turned her face upward, toward Setie's voice. "Veria probably saved all of us, and I am going to help her. Please tell Queen Theresa." 

"Luanna, what..." Setie began to ask--and cut short: the Second Sacred Sister collapsed in the same apparent unconsciousness as held Veria and Halin. "Luanna!" 

Crashing footsteps, the clang of metal on stone; a detachment of knights rushed into the deepening shadows of the area, weapons at ready. "Sister Luanna! Sister Setie!" Commander Travis called in alarm, hurrying toward them. "What's going on? What happened?" 

Setie half shook her head in the beginnings of panic--Pahlan's hand squeezed her shoulder gently. She forced her tone to stay even. "Time for a report later, Commander. Sister Luanna, Veria, and Halin are unconscious. We have to get them to the clinic. I don't know what sort of damage was done." 

The commander looked at her, gave a crisp nod, and waved his men forward. The three guards with him lifted the limp forms as gently as was possible in their heavy armor. Niama hurried forward to stay beside Veria, while Travis hung back a few paces and looked inquiringly at Pahlan and Setie. "Well?" he asked, voice soft. 

"From what the Second Sacred Sister said, it seems Halin was under someone's control somehow," Pahlan said grimly. "I don't know who could do that...but almost certainly a Wingly." His arm tightened around Setie again. 

"I thought it had to be something like that," the commander muttered, with a sigh. "Best not to let rumors get started. Is there a chance Halin could be a danger when he wakes?" 

"A chance, yes," Pahlan agreed, with reluctance. "As could Veria...or even Sister Luanna, if this attacker gets the upper hand in whatever battle they're carrying on." 

Commander Travis shook his head. "I can't say I understand, but if that's so, it would be wise for at least one of you Winglies to stay near them. Just in case. We wouldn't be able to deal with hostile magic. And Sister Luanna--" He looked anxiously at Pahlan. "Is she in much danger, do you think? Is there anything that can be done to help her?" 

Setie turned her face to Pahlan as well, in hope, but his expression swiftly rid her of it. "Veria is the only one of us who knows anything about the mental magics," he admitted. "They take too much patience, too much concentration. Almost a lost art. I never even knew something like this was possible. I'm sorry." He glanced down at Setie, and away, crimson eyes guilt-filled. 

"Not your fault," the commander said, his tone gruff but kind. "I know you'll think it was. But it might just as easily have been an attack by Human bandits--we have our renegades, too. And we can hope there'll be no harm done. I'd trust Sister Luanna's strength of mind any day, and your Veria's a smart girl." 

Pahlan nodded, slowly. Setie leaned into his side, in hopes of returning the comfort he offered her. 

The sound of pulsing wings echoed off the crystal again, and Pahlan tensed instantly, turning to put Setie at his back. She peered around him, and sighed in relief to see Guaraha. 

There was someone else with him, though, a Wingly woman in a long white dress--"Who's that?" she whispered to Pahlan. 

"Netti--she just arrived from Ulara to help out, we haven't had a chance to do introductions," he replied. "She can't have been involved with any of this, though, she and Guaraha and I had been arguing in our guesthouse over crystal angles and power limits. Well, mostly she and I were arguing." 

Setie grinned at the thought. 

"I told them something was wrong before I teleported to you," Pahlan added, "I wondered how long it would take them to get here." He stepped forward to wave the pair toward them. 

Guaraha and Netti headed downward, wings vanishing a few inches above the ground to let them drop gently. "Pahlan, what was it?" Guaraha demanded, looking at Setie as though checking for injury. "Is everything all right?" 

"We're going to the clinic," Pahlan said grimly. "We'll fill you in on the way..."

* * *

"Halin?" 

It was only the faintest thread of a whisper, but he flung himself toward it as to a lifeline, desperate for any relief from the utter silence and blackness. A nightmare of paralysis held him prisoner, but he threw out a mental, wordless cry-- 

"Halin, where are you...?" The voice was fading. 

He floundered toward it, panicking at the thought of the silence returning. If he was alone again--! 

"Shh, it's all right. Calm down...I won't leave you." The image of a hand, small and delicate, open and reaching toward him. "Come here. I can help you get out." 

He tried to take the offered hand, couldn't force so much as a finger to twitch. An involuntary whimper escaped his mind--he'd never get out... 

The voice broke in, stronger. "Not that way, Halin. See your hand?" 

He couldn't see anything--the blackness was everywhere-- 

"You're not looking the right way, Halin...use your mind, not your eyes. You're reaching for me. All right?" 

In his mind, the image of her hand stretched closer, becoming clearer as though through a mist of darkness. Tentatively, Halin formed a mental picture of his own hand meeting the other. 

And gasped in relief as warm fingers gripped his hand tightly, drawing him upward. _If that's how it works, then..._ He tried to remember the sound of his own voice. "Who..." He faltered, refocused. "Who are you?" His rescuer's voice was feminine, but not...who had he expected? The memories slipped out of his grasp like elusive fireflies. 

Her face grew clearer as she pulled him out of the dark fog. "Luanna. Can you remember, Halin?" 

_Remember. I remember..._ "You're a human!" Instinct trained by long years, he tried to jerk away from her grip. 

"Halin, _don't_!" she commanded sharply. Another hand wrapped around his wrist. "Do you want to fall?" 

Fall. Into the blackness, the silence, paralyzed, alone again--shuddering, he let her pull him back toward her. "Don't let me fall." It was a whisper, a broken voice, and Halin didn't care. "Don't leave me alone..." 

"I won't," she reassured gently. "Halin, Prado put you there, shut you off from everything. Do you remember?" 

"Prado wouldn't do that," he snapped, but shivered as memory began reluctantly to seep back. "He wouldn't--not to me..." 

"He tried to murder Setie while he was in control of you," Luanna pressed. "Is that what you wanted when you told him about her, Halin?" 

"I don't believe you," he muttered weakly. "Prado...wouldn't..." But he was all too aware that Prado was capable of it. 

The imaged grasp on his wrist tightened, enough that he felt a twinge of pain. "I don't have time to argue something you already know! Halin, I can only get you out if you can fight off Prado's influence!" the Human half-pleaded. "As long as he has control of you, you're stuck here..." 

Suspicion flared again--she was only saying it to trick him, maybe she'd done this to him herself-- 

"_Halin!_" The plea was full-fledged and desperate now, her mind opened to him and without any hint of untruth. "Choose! There's no _time_--" 

He chose.

* * *

A thick darkness curled about the flickering violet-red spark that was all the self-image Veria could force into place against Prado's pressure. His deafening mindvoice echoed through her as she desperately moved though his control, barely ahead of the crushing mental blows he aimed. 

"Let--Halin--go!" she spared concentration to shape the words, her voice dim and distorted even to herself, her imagery beginning to fail against the constant onslaught. 

A snarl vibrated through her--Prado had plenty of energy to spare for imaging, and the darkness swirled into a threatening representation of his face. "How dare you give me orders?" he demanded. "How dare _you_ pretend you have a right to say _anything_ to _me_! You're a pathetic excuse for a Wingly--always giving yourself airs on your so-called mental abilities--you've never had the magic to so much as fly properly--you're no better than a Human yourself! No wonder you take _their_ side!" 

Veria darted away from him again, a spark of light slipping through the fingers of the giant hand that reached for her--found an instant's safety in lighting within a neglected corner--"You haven't any right--to control Halin!" she gasped. 

Prado's laughter was more threatening than his snarl had been, and he lifted the pressure for an instant, smiling at her with contempt. "Halin gave me the right!" he declared. A towering wave of darkness built around Veria, trapping her within the temporary oasis of calm, and began to bear down on her... "And by coming into his mind...so have _you_. Once I crush your mind, your body will be under my control as much as Halin's!" 

Veria braced herself, holding her tiny flame steady, but she knew that this time she wouldn't be able to last through... 

"No!" a new voice contradicted, a firm, confident voice--Veria looked upward in shock. She knew that voice, but never with such a tone. "I never gave you the right to control me, Prado," Halin continued--crimson light shimmered through Prado's darkness, flared, blossomed outward like a rising sun. "I trusted you, and you betrayed me. Now I want you out of my head." 

Taking advantage of Prado's abrupt inattention, Veria slid through the tattered edges of the darkness and into an unoccupied corner. Her own light grew slowly stronger as she gathered her energy again, peering over at Halin with something not unlike awe. She hadn't expected anything like _this_ from the boy...she'd been afraid that he would be joining Prado to wipe her out... 

It was good that he had his morality still, but where had he learned to image himself so vividly? Being in his own mind had to help, but still...Halin had only ever expressed contempt for her efforts at mental training. 

And what was...? Veria focused her attention on something that flickered behind Halin, a violet-blue darkness acting as support for the brilliant light... 

_Veria,_ a familiar whisper reached her, direct communication. _We'll need your help. Prado is too strong, and Halin is still too dependent on him..._

With a flash of agreement and glad realization, Veria flickered faster than thought through the ragged edges of the crimson and the darkness to join Luanna behind Halin's shielding. 

And stopped short, a shockwave rippling off her and striking Luanna and Halin with unmistakable force. The distraction startled Halin into losing ground, and Veria quickly shielded her emotions, staring at Luanna. "You _melded_?" she whispered. 

"Didn't have much choice," the Human muttered grimly. "Halin was so far down I barely reached him, and then he didn't want to trust me...I had to open to him..." 

"Does Halin know...?" Veria stopped--it was a silly question, because Luanna couldn't possibly hide anything from the Wingly man with their minds so closely linked. "He was okay with it?" she asked instead. 

The crimson that was Halin, intermixed with Luanna's gentle evening shade, answered her. "I found out how wrong I'd been all these years...but there's no time, Veria--I'm anchored here, and Luanna's melded to me--you've got to push Prado back where he belongs. Or he'll have all of us." 

A flush of fear ran through her. "I don't know if I can," she muttered. If Luanna hadn't entered the locked minds, if the Human hadn't pulled Halin out of the seals Prado had set, Prado would already have crushed Veria... 

"You can," Halin insisted--his voice was strained, little of his attention to spare for it. "You've been studying this sort of thing for ages, Veria, you've got way better concentration than Prado does--you have to." 

_Yes, but I was studying how to touch minds, calm emotions, help people--not how to shove someone out of someone else's mind!_

Veria focused deeper, taking advantage of the calm Halin's standoff provided her to recall some measure of composure. Halin was right, in any case--she had to. "All right," she said, quietly. "Halin, Luanna, the moment I get him out, seal off." 

A flicker of worried acknowledgment from both--Veria leapt through Halin's warm, friendly fire to meet the icy shock of Prado's hostility full-force. 

She had the advantage now, with Prado no longer able to draw on the strength he had stolen from Halin. Bracing herself against Halin as though against a solid rock, Veria spread out her own images, and pushed slowly forward. Crystalline imagery came easiest, after the long hours spent with the material, and at her thought a wall of it sprang up behind her, cutting both herself and Prado off from the inward parts of Halin's mind. 

She pressed forward, with a feeling like gritting her teeth. "Get out," she ordered, "get out, get _out_!" 

Prado's anger seethed around her, furious but helpless to prevent her forward progress. Halin's mind was his own again, and the Wingly boy was lending strength to Veria, jagged crystals springing up to prevent Prado's reentry, smooth surface without traction stretching behind and back, giving him no chance to push back. 

"_Halin!_" the older Wingly howled, black hatred swirling stronger against Veria--"Traitor! Traitors, all of you! You'll pay for this!" 

And something shifted. Veria hesitated an instant, sensing that she had reached the borders of Halin's mind. She had to force Prado the rest of the way out, but she wasn't sure she could stand up against him without Halin's support--and Luanna's, for she could see the blind human locked into their link. 

Prado's attention turned fully on her then, and Veria faltered and shuddered as his blackness closed in on her. "All right, then," he murmured. "All right, if Halin chooses to betray me for the Humans, so be it." 

The pressure from in front of Veria vanished so quickly that she stumbled forward with a gasp, losing the fortifying contact with Halin and falling into Prado's swirling darkness. His mocking laughter surrounded her. "But as for _you_, Veria...you're on _my_ ground now...you really shouldn't have interfered..." 

Veria shuddered. He might well be right. How could she hope to hold out for long against a Wingly so much more powerful than she was? Well, at the least, she'd kept him from hurting Setie, helped Halin to break free from the mental control...with Luanna's aid... 

_Luanna._

She'd felt the strength of the Human's mind. Or, rather, the part-Human, for there had been an unmistakable tinge of Wingly heritage in the trace of magic that had permitted Luanna's access to Halin's mind... 

Veria drew herself together, shaking off the doubts that had beset her. "It doesn't matter how much stronger your magic is than mine, Prado," she declared, with a confidence rare for her. "You can't keep me here." 

His growl echoed as though it were thunder, as he closed in on her. "We'll see about that..."

* * *

Guaraha leaned against the back of his chair and watched Pahlan's angry strides, down the length of the room and back up again. Down...and back up. The footsteps began to echo louder, set down hard with building anger, and Guaraha shook his head. "Pahlan, sit down," he instructed at last. "This isn't helping." 

The other Wingly paused, looking over, a half-smile breaking through the scowl he'd worn for the past two hours. "Pacing just really bothers you somehow, doesn't it?" he observed. 

"It doesn't help anything," Guaraha reiterated. "It's a waste of energy. And yes, it annoys me." 

That half-smile crept a bit wider. "Then I wouldn't say it's a waste..." He turned toward the other side of the room, and the smile vanished, replaced with the familiar look of frustration. "And there's nothing I can do to help, anyway." 

Guaraha followed his gaze. In two evenly spaced beds lay the unconscious forms of Halin and Veria, Second Sacred Sister Luanna in a separate corner, two Human soldiers standing guard over her. None of the three had shown the slightest sign of awareness all the time they had been within the small clinic. Veria and Halin were loosely restrained, a loop of rope about their wrists--enough to delay any spell-casting until Pahlan could block it, if it were necessary. 

"I hate this mental stuff," Pahlan muttered. "I hate it. I want to know who I'm up against, know what spells to use--or just where to hit. All this waiting, this...creeping into other people's minds..." 

"I know what you mean," Guaraha could only agree, with a sigh. He hesitated. "Here's a question, though...who would do this?" 

Pahlan didn't respond for a long moment. "You're thinking I'd know them, if it's someone from the Forest," he said at last, heavily. "You're probably right to think so. But, Guaraha, no one from the Forest but Veria knows anything about the mental magics!" 

"No one from outside the Forest could have gotten access to Halin, or known about you and Setie," Guaraha countered. "Unless you're going to accuse the people Caron brought, which is hardly likely." 

Nodding reluctant acceptance, Pahlan sank into the chair beside Guaraha. "Halin is friends with Prado and the other anti-Humans, like Sacan and I used to be. It's very likely he would have complained to them. Still--who knows the methods? Sacan always said telepathy was for weaklings like Veria..." He glanced briefly at the unconscious girl. "No offense meant from me, of course. Especially since she just saved my life, more than likely. But he did say that." 

"I've heard it from that group before, and I'm sure she's heard it, too." Guaraha stared at his hands, trying to fit evidence together in some way that made sense. 

The faint rustle of cloth pulled both Winglies from their chairs instantly, Pahlan to stand warily beside Halin, Guaraha at a distance of several feet to watch Veria as well. The girl hadn't twitched. 

But Halin stirred, lifted a hand to wipe at sleep-clouded eyes, looked up and noticed Pahlan's suspicious gaze--and the spell building in the older Wingly's palms. Guaraha saw him blink, a startled expression; then understanding slid over his face. "It's all right now, Bardel," Halin said, spreading both hands out flat, unthreateningly, no hint of magic about him. 

"If you don't mind, I'll wait a while before I take your word for that," Pahlan growled. "You tried to kill Setie." 

The man flinched, looked away. "I know," he muttered. "But it wasn't--it wasn't me, Bardel...please, you've got to believe me..." 

"What's wrong with Veria?" Guaraha demanded. "If you're awake, why isn't she?" 

Halin shoved himself upright, disregarding Pahlan's threat, concern growing on his face as he sought out the girl's form. "She must still be...oh, no..." he faltered. 

"Prado pulled her out as he left," Luanna's voice came clearly across the room. The Sacred Sister approached, her guards beside her, one hovering anxiously with an eye on Halin while the other guided her solicitously around the furniture. 

Levering himself shakily out of the bed, under Pahlan's distrustful eye, Halin lurched and had to catch at the bed frame to steady himself. "Luanna, you're okay?" he asked, and Guaraha raised an eyebrow at the genuinely concerned tone. 

The Sacred Sister smiled at him. "I'm fine, Halin--maybe better off than you are! It will take you a while to find your balance again, after all the time you were bound." Unerringly, she stepped around Veria's bed, not waiting for the guard to guide her, and slipped a supportive arm around Halin--to the distinct unease of the Human guards. Guaraha's eyebrows went a little higher. What all had gone on in that mental battle, anyway? 

Halin straightened slightly, too obviously trying to draw some fragment of his lost confidence about himself, turning to Guaraha. "It was Prado," he reported. "I...it was my fault, too, because I told him..." He darted a guilty look at Pahlan, and the confidence was abruptly gone, with a long, soft breath. "Bardel...I'm so sorry. I was wrong. I hope...I hope you and Setie will be very happy together." 

Pahlan nodded acceptance, rather stiffly, but an honest effort. "Prado?" he asked, returning to the least uncomfortable subject. "I'd never have expected Prado to know anything about mind control..." 

"Me, neither," Halin agreed ruefully. "But apparently he believes in keeping some abilities secret. It could have worked, too--everyone would have killed me for what I did, and he'd have been quite safe. It's a good thing Prado underestimated you and Setie, Pahlan...and Veria." 

Guaraha grimaced. No, Prado would never have thought that anything like the Wingly danger warning would function between Pahlan and Setie--Pahlan and a Human. "But what's wrong with Veria?" he demanded again, seeking clarification. Obviously Prado had done something to her, but Guaraha had never thought to find out much about what went on in a mental battle. "Will she wake up soon?" Quite aside from the fact that she'd saved several lives, the young Wingly was his responsibility. It would be his failure, if she were hurt... 

Shaking his head, Halin muttered, "I don't think it's that simple." 

"No," Luanna agreed, quietly, "it will not be that simple." She laid a hand on Veria's forehead, frowning. "Veria is no longer _here_, Guaraha--when Prado realized he was being defeated, he withdrew so suddenly from Halin's mind that Veria was trapped with him. I can't reach her from here. Unless she breaks free on her own, or someone helps her from wherever Prado is, she will stay there, and she will not wake." 

"Prado's in the Forest," Halin added, brightening somewhat. "He has to be, he'd never leave. We can send word--Ancestor Blano, or Caron, or someone can help Veria!" 

"We must send word, certainly." A worried expression tugged at Luanna's smooth face. "That Veria is still asleep is no guarantee that Prado is." 

_And there's no telling what Prado might do now that his attack has failed,_ Guaraha thought, and nodded to Luanna. "You're right. Pahlan, you'll have to teleport, it's the fastest way." 

Pahlan turned, startled. "I can't leave Setie!" he protested. "Send that Ularan--surely she can teleport!" 

"She's busy right now, Pahlan, and this is urgent. Go. They can teleport you back within an hour or two." 

The older Wingly dropped his gaze, unwilling to challenge the order but clearly wishing he could. "Fine," he muttered. "Someone make sure Setie knows, okay?" He drew a breath, held it, and Guaraha could feel the building magic--then he had vanished, and the white flare of light left in his place thinned and faded. 

That was one potential problem hopefully taken care of, Guaraha thought with relief, and turned toward Luanna and Halin, now standing with clasped hands. "Now...if you don't mind...what _happened_ to you two in that battle?" he asked, both eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

Halin glanced uncertainly at Luanna, who patted his arm comfortingly and lifted her face in Guaraha's direction. "Halin was having difficulty trusting me. I knew that I had to get him out of Prado's grip...I was rather panicked. So was he. When our minds touched, we merged--saw one another's memories and emotions, and formed a deeper connection than is usual. Some of that is still in place, even now." She hesitated. "You've probably noticed...I find, now, that I can see what Halin sees. I've done the same with Setie from time to time." 

"I did notice," Guaraha agreed. "Thank you for explaining." 

Luanna dipped her head slightly in response. "Please excuse me, now. I will tell Setie where Mr. Bardel went, and then I must report to Queen Theresa--she will want to know what has happened." 

"Of course." 

Halin and the guards followed the Second Sacred Sister from the room, leaving Guaraha alone beside Veria's bed. He retreated to his chair, with a sigh. 

The attack had not seriously harmed either Setie or Pahlan, had not put any serious strain on the Human-Wingly alliance--the Queen had been fully understanding, and what few rumors had spread focused heavily on the heroism of Veria, Pahlan, and Luanna, and very little on the identity of the attacker. But it had slowed progress on the reconstruction. Niama, Rienna, Kedim, Lanar, and Netti had all been sent to bed long ago--it was now closer to sunrise than to evening. But without Veria's knowledge, without Halin and Pahlan as backup power sources... 

_Netti may be able to manage. She's stronger than Pahlan, certainly, and she seems to know a great deal about focusing...not quite the way Veria studied it, but Netti said that she'd actually done some crystal focus-work before, in Ulara...And almost all the crystal is in place now, it's the tuning that's important._

Still, it would delay things. _And we don't have time for delay._

Guaraha rubbed his eyes wearily. Netti had mentioned more help from Ulara. He would just have to hope that they hurried. 

_Or that the Dragoons show up and laugh at us all for worrying so much._ A faint smile touched his lips. _Wouldn't Meru love that?_

If Meru was alive... 

The turbulent mix of emotion made Guaraha believe, for several long minutes, that the pressure in his mind was his own doing. It took a shriek from outside--swiftly joined by several more--to pull him from his thoughts enough to recognize what it meant. 

He barely noticed that he had knocked his chair over as he dashed for the outer door. 

Setie stood at the doorway, both hands pressed to her mouth, frozen in dismay and staring upward. Guaraha followed her gaze. 

Blood-red light washed slowly over the surface of the Moon. The pressure that had built, and faded, with the destruction of the seals at Deningrad, at Aglis, and at Zenebatos now bore down worse than ever on those sensitive to such things, bringing with it an intense dread and a distant hostility. 

And, with a sparkle and a flash of blue light that crackled over the scarred surface, too remote to be clearly seen, the Moon began to fall. Clouds billowed on the horizon--bright golden light speared from the Moon-- 

_Is this the way the world ends, then?_ Guaraha wondered dimly. He couldn't seem to dredge up any sort of fear for himself, nor even for his people, or the Humans, or the world in general. The Dragoons would never have allowed this to happen. They would have fought to the death first. 

Which meant Meru was, had to be, dead. 

"Guaraha! Guaraha, what's happening?" 

He barely heard the voice through the roaring in his ears, but at about the third repetition managed to tear his gaze from the sky long enough to identify the speaker. "The Moon is setting, Queen Theresa. It seems we'll find out just how good our work is, after all." 

"The Dragoons--?" 

Guaraha shook his head painfully. "They've lost...so it seems...unlikely that they could still be alive. Meru...Meru would fight to her last breath to prevent this." 

"So would Miranda," the Queen whispered in unwilling agreement. He heard her draw a choked breath, and realized for the first time that his face was damp with tears. "Well," Queen Theresa continued, her voice stronger. "None of them would want us to give up. There may yet be a chance. But we have less time now than ever. How near are you to finishing work on the Crystal Palace?" 

It was hard to remember such things with the sight before him of the Moon sinking into angry red clouds, distant and yet far too close. Guaraha shut his eyes, tried to clear his mind. "Veria had hoped to finish within a day and a half. If more help comes from Ulara, we might be able to cut it down to a day. All the major pieces are in place, it's mostly a matter of fine-tuning the focus. And getting enough strong magic-users here that it will actually do any good." 

"Now that this has happened, I'm sure you'll get your help..." 

Something made him look sharply toward the outside gates of the city--a flare of magic, infinitesimal against the background pressure, but very familiar. "Actually, I believe they've just arrived," he informed her. 

A valiant effort at a smile struggled on her face. "Well, good. Keep up your good work, Mr. Guaraha--and I'll try to keep my people from panicking too much." 

Guaraha looked around. Every street was crowded with Humans, most in their nightclothes, terror evident on every face. Faces which were turned, not to the threatening sky, but to their Queen, and no less evident than the terror was a desperate need for, and expectation of, reassurance and leadership. The silence was positively unnerving. 

_May no one ever look at me that way!_ "Um," he said hesitantly, "if you want, I can cast a spell so you'll be loud enough that they can all hear you." 

"Thank you, Guaraha, that would be very helpful," she agreed. 

The rune Guaraha traced in the air barely glittered, but it was a spell that needed little power--or concentration, which was particularly fortunate. He stepped back so as to be out of her way; the Queen nodded her thanks. 

"People of Mille Seseau!" The spell's power carried the clear words to the edges of the gathered crowd--and beyond, to whomever stopped to listen. 

Guaraha couldn't make himself listen to the words--something about faithful allies, warnings given, and preparations already being made, and no doubt quite complimentary to the Winglies. He had looked back to the place where the Moon had fallen into the clouds, and could not seem to move for the dull roar that echoed in his head, and the memory of the woman he loved. 

_Meru..._

* * *

Notes: Yes, I know, I take much much too long to write. 

Sorry to leave you all here! I know I said earlier there would only be four parts, but it's stretched to five somehow without my intending it to. I'll do my best to make the next part the last one, really. 

To respond to the review from Leshyaedawnfire, yes, most of the other Wingly names are also mine, although some of them I attached to the nameless people from the game. Many thanks to everyone who's reviewed; I hope some of you are still around! I hope the next chapter doesn't take quite so long. It ought to be shorter, but it may insist on getting pretty long... 

As always, I'm willing to make changes if you have constructive criticism to give. 


	5. Till the World Ends

Here I Must Wait  
by DawningStar

Part Five: Till the World Ends

_we only need wait till the world ends--  
how long till the Moon comes awake?  
we only need wait till the world ends--  
how long can a last resort take? _

_we only need wait till the world ends,  
and then at last death will have won.  
we only need wait till the world ends,  
and then all our waiting is done.  
--Anonymous poet of Ulara, Fifty-First Moon-Child Cycle; copies preserved in Ulara_

It didn't matter that Prado was a dozen times Veria's strength, magically. It was not, she had found, magic that they drew on in their mental struggle, but willpower and reserves of imagination and energy. So it didn't matter that Prado could have blasted her to cinders without breaking a sweat.

That was the good news.

What did seem to matter quite a lot was that Prado had fostered his icy hatred and bitter determination for years--all his life perhaps. And all Veria could find to pit against that soul-deep hatred were years of half-guilty speculation that Humans might not be so terrible, and her few short days of actual acquaintance with them.

Friendship was undoubtedly stronger than hate, but did a few days' panicked planning and building together give her any right to call any of them her friends?

Not for the first time, Prado's dark imaging began to close in over her, its darkness relentlessly seeding doubts in her. The battle had long since ceased to be verbal in any sense, becoming a war of the emotions that undercut all reason. And what she had wasn't enough--a common cause, even of this magnitude, wasn't nearly enough to give her strength to break free.

_All right. All right, then,_ she thought, clenching mental hands. And put aside all the generalities, all the fine-sounding arguments that connected with nothing.

In their place, she drew up an image of Setie.

As they had first met the girl, innate friendliness and a required formality doing battle with occasionally amusing results. The clear devotion and love she had shown to the blind Luanna. The way that she had slowly melted Pahlan Bardel's hardened heart...

As Veria had last seen her, terrified and fighting for her life against a Wingly she had trusted.

The look in Pahlan Bardel's eyes, deep-rooted rage at anyone who would try to harm Setie, and even deeper fear that she might be hurt...

And Luanna. The quiet strength that had made such an impression on Veria even from the beginning, the gentle touch of her mind. The way she had plunged into the mental battle to help Halin and Veria, disregarding fear and danger.

Queen Theresa, so like the Ancestor in the way responsibilities lay almost visibly on her shoulders, the responsibility of caring for the people she loved, the country she guided.

The childlike joy on Niama's face as she showed off her new Human clothes.

Peter and Stephen, architects devoted to their work, who had accepted her, listened to all she had to teach and then saved her from her own miscalculations when the time came for the construction.

The Dragoons, those strange people which she had met so briefly, and their dedication to freeing the world from the danger that threatened it--first the Divine Dragon, and now the still greater threat that waited in the Moon That Never Set.

The images built, grew, strengthened each other, and Veria shoved them outward in an explosion of light--_These are good people! They have so much for us to learn! They're helping us! How dare you harm Setie? How dare you betray their trust?_

As she expected, Prado shoved back with a seething hatred, reinforced by the vivid images of Human atrocities--the stories handed down from the first refugees, of Humans who came and killed and slaughtered until there was nothing left, who showed no mercy to Winglies because they were Winglies--the images of blood and gossamer hair stained red. All the glories of civilization, smashed to ruins by Humans who could not even understand what they were destroying. The description the Bardels had given of their beloved sister, crumpled lifeless in a pool of blood. _These are not even people--these are animals!_

Veria countered with still more images from the ancient tales--how the Winglies had crushed any fragments of what might become a Human civilization, had enslaved and killed and burned the lands. _You've got no right to be proclaiming Wingly superiority on_ that _account! We're lucky they're willing to tolerate us at all, with what our ancestors did to theirs!_

But she could tell that Prado still had the upper hand, still held control enough that she could not escape. He had spent years enmeshing himself ever deeper with these emotions, however foolish she thought they were, and she still only had a half-childish affection to defend herself.

Deeper still, then. What was it, Veria wondered, that had made her throw herself in harm's way? Something stronger than simple affection, surely...she reached, and found it. A knot of resolve that burned like fire in her heart.

_I will not let you hurt them!_ And her image flared up once more, forcing the darkness away--

Something in Prado's concentration abruptly shifted, away from her--some new force was pressing in on both of them--

His guard dropped, just enough, and Veria caught the faint edges of an intense magical pressure...she ignored it, it didn't matter, because Prado had faltered and the way out was right--_there!_

The warm, familiar confines of her own mind drew her in, and the link between herself and Prado snapped, withering swiftly as though it had never been.

Slowly, her eyelids feeling as though they weighed more than all the crystal in Deningrad, Veria forced herself awake. It took her a long moment of staring about her with blurred eyes to identify the room as the Human clinic she had visited only briefly before. No one was with her, though she frowned slightly to see a chair tipped over beside her bed. And what was that noise outside?

Veria pushed herself to an approximately upright position, got her feet planted on the floor, and debated whether trying to stand would make her faint or fall over or something embarrassing of that sort. Fighting Prado seemed to have sapped every shred of energy she had.

At last, leaning heavily on a nearby table, she made it to her feet, staggering and barely able to keep her balance. She had to know what was going on outside. Dim words drifted to her--was that Queen Theresa's voice?

The wall provided support enough for her to walk toward the door, at an agonizingly slow pace--apprehension grew with every step. Not many things could cause the level of terror that surged through the door at her, tugging at her and crashing uncontrollably through her weakened mental shields.

The words reached her before she could see anything, and she had to clutch tightly at the back of a chair to avoid collapsing. It was unmistakably Queen Theresa, in tones meant to encourage, strengthen, calm, but what the queen was saying made Veria want to scream and flee for all the distance she could manage...

A useless reaction, that would be. Veria gripped the back of the chair tighter instead and tried to sort out the facts from the flood of emotions that still washed over her.

The Moon had fallen. The Dragoons had failed.

The world was ending--

_Not if we can stop it!_ she thought desperately. _That's what this whole project has been about, to stop it--surely Charle, Ancestor Blano, someone will be able to stop this!_

Had they been fools all along, trying to change fate? It had taken the strongest Winglies, the strongest magic of the ancient past to trap that final fruit; could anything at all stop it now that it was waking, ready to end the world?

Veria bit her tongue till she tasted blood, and tried to close her mind to the emotion outside, but that seemed just as useless. _I am_ not _going to scream,_ she thought. _I'm not going to panic._

This explained what had distracted Prado, she realized absently. Someone telepathically sensitive as she was could have felt the approach of the God of Destruction, if her mind had been receptive and if there had been attention to spare. Someone as magically strong as Prado had it more or less forced to his attention, from the resonation effect of that power. Ironically enough, her lack of magic had saved her.

She took in a long breath, let it out slowly, tried to focus on what Queen Theresa was saying.

"...I cannot promise you, my people, that we will win, against a threat of this magnitude. But we have no hope of escape except to fight, and so we shall fight. In honor of our Miranda, and all the Dragoons..." here the Human ruler's voice faltered, just noticeably, and Veria winced in shared grief. She'd never really met the White-Silver Dragoon, but she had known Meru since childhood, and Meru had undoubtedly come to the same fate as the rest of the Dragoons. Veria's heart ached for Guaraha.

Not especially wanting to hear more, she dragged herself back to the bed. Queen Theresa was right, of course, and that seemed to be having an effect on the terrified Humans of Deningrad; fear had muted into a worried determination. Veria was relieved to find, too, that her mental shields were beginning to recover, and she could begin to filter out the uncontrolled emotions. She was frightened enough all on her own.

She curled up on the bed, trying hard to focus on recovering her strength. The others might still need her help to finish rebuilding the Crystal Palace, and time, apparently, had run out.

Sleep must have claimed her, because she woke drowsily to the sound of Niama's voice. "Does she look any better?" the other girl was asking someone, worry in her tone.

"She does seem to be breathing deeper," an unfamiliar voice replied, cautiously. "More like regular sleep. I hope that's a good sign..."

Veria's mouth felt too dry to speak, but she opened her eyes and rubbed at them tiredly. "I'm okay, Niama," she mumbled.

Niama half-shrieked, and flung arms around Veria in a delighted embrace. "You're _awake_! You're okay? You're not hurt? What happened?" she demanded, pulling back and fixing her with a concerned gaze.

"Just tired..." Veria grimaced slightly. "The Moon distracted Prado, and I slipped away from him. I hope someone in the Forest knows about him."

"We sent Pahlan to warn them after Halin and Sister Luanna woke up," Niama assured her.

Veria nodded in relief. "Then wake me when I'm needed, Niama, but for now I really must sleep, or I'll be no use to anyone."

"I understand. Sleep well, Veria," Niama added, and Veria could hear the relieved smile in her tone. She couldn't see it; her eyes had already drifted shut once more.

* * *

It was quite a large group that had arrived from Ulara, a full two dozen Winglies. Every one of the Winglies in it seemed to be considerably more powerful than even Pahlan Bardel, and also to know a great deal about focusing magic, and altogether it made Guaraha feel utterly useless. The worst part, he had decided, was that the group absolutely insisted that he remain in charge. 

The best part was that, working from Veria's plans and with the assistance of the Human architects, and with the incentive the fallen Moon provided, the newcomers had put the final touches on the Crystal Palace in about ten minutes. Now, in the dark hours before sunrise, it glowed eerily from within, as Wingly magic poured out to swirl and combine in the crystal spires.

It was a test, and also a preparation; Netti had spent some minutes explaining that the crystal would not only focus magic, but hold it, and that the more magic the structure could be imbued with prior to its real use, the better the strengthening effect would be. Guaraha had nodded, rather uncomprehendingly, and wondered what the use was of him being in charge when he didn't understand anything...

Guaraha heard someone calling his name, and turned to find Niama dashing toward him, her face glowing with relief. "Guaraha!" the girl yelled from some distance down the street. "Veria's all right! She woke up, she's safe!"

He felt some part of the long night's anxiety drain out of him, and managed a heartfelt smile. "That's wonderful news, Niama."

"She's still very tired," Niama added, coming up to him, "of course, but she can sleep now, and she'll be fine." She skipped high and did an impromptu twirl--"I've got to tell Kedim and Halin and Sister Luanna and everyone!"--and she had dashed off again at the same speed.

Guaraha stared after her, the smile gone, his eyes abruptly too clouded to see anything. Something hard felt trapped in his throat. Meru had been wont to break into dance, too...

He shook his head in an effort to clear it, gritting his teeth. Queen Theresa had been right--Meru would want him to do his best, to try to save the world...if it were possible. And toward that end, he had things to do.

The obvious leader of the Ularan group was an elegantly attired lady named Miata; Guaraha had expected it to be Caron, but she, apparently, had gone back to the Human kingdom of Tiberoa instead. After the hurried introductions, Miata had been much involved with directing all the Winglies strong enough to help to their proper places around and within the spires of the Palace. Lanar and Kedim had insisted on joining in; Rienna was still too tired, as, despite his protests, was Pahlan; Halin was still recovering, and Niama too worried about Veria. Miata stood now some distance away, arms folded thoughtfully as she watched.

He hesitated, not entirely sure how to address her. "Lady Miata?" he ventured at last.

She turned at once with a smile, its warmth only slightly diminished by the worried creases set in her face. "No titles--I'm just Miata. I'm sorry not to have spoken to you earlier, Guaraha, I've been rather distracted."

"All of us have," Guaraha agreed, unable to manage any kind of smile in return. "I understood--this is urgent. If I may ask, why are you not participating yourself?"

Miata sighed. "Charle doesn't want me to drain myself with this, because I'm one of the best at teleporting. I'm supposed to carry messages to the Forest--that's where she is right now, actually."

"Makes sense." He took a moment to gather his courage, which wasn't helped by the fact that Miata was watching him curiously. "Miata--I wondered whether it might be wise to send a few people toward the place where the Moon fell. We'd have a little advance warning, then, time to prepare specific defenses for whatever's coming." A long breath. He tried to keep his voice steady. "And there might be some chance--however slight--that one of the Dragoons survived, wounded, perhaps..."

A gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder. "We all have someone out there," she murmured. "Serdio waits for her king, the Princess Emille of Tiberoa for her betrothed, Mille Seseau and the people of Deningrad for their First Sacred Sister..." A long pause. "We of Ulara for--Rose..." she faltered again. At last, very softly, "We all hope--hope that they managed, somehow, to survive." Guaraha tried to lower his eyes, away from her sympathetic regard.

"What I'm trying to say is," she began again, and Guaraha could hear the same heaviness in her voice that he felt in his own, "Charle's already sent four of our fastest people in that direction. But if you, Guaraha, would be willing to take charge of it, I think it would be an excellent idea to have more scouts in that direction."

He nodded at once. "I'll be glad to. No one needs my help with the rebuilding anymore, and I feel like I need to be doing _something_ useful."

"Don't think you're getting out of the leadership position this way," Miata warned. "We need you for that, too. You've earned everyone's trust, Guaraha--Wingly and Human both. You're the best one to keep us all working together smoothly...and you know we _must_ work together."

Guaraha tried not to grimace. "I know, I know, you told me before. I wish you wouldn't call it _leadership_, though--Ancestor Blano, Queen Theresa, and the Lady Charle are the leaders, not me."

"Whatever it makes you most comfortable to call it, then," Miata conceded, with a grin and a dismissive wave. "I'll have as many people as are still able to fly report to you once the crystal's charged. I expect Queen Theresa will let a fair number of her soldiers join your patrols as well...oh," she added, "Charle is having quite a number of magical weapons and defenses brought in for the Humans to use, by the way, so that they'll actually have some chance at making a difference in the defense."

"That sounds wonderful. I'll tell Queen Theresa, I'm sure she'll be pleased," Guaraha smiled.

Miata nodded absently, her attention drawn back to the glowing crystal spires--one was pulsing perceptibly brighter than the others. "Good luck with your patrols, and be careful," she admonished, "and if you'll excuse me, please, it looks like Netti's pushing too hard again..." A flicker of light, and she had gone.

Guaraha stood watching the palace for a moment, considering what order he ought to take things. The Queen would hopefully be asleep now, but he knew that Commander Travis was awake, and that was one person he knew would jump at the chance of being able to do something. He'd sympathized with the Human's complaints every day that week.

A yawn forced itself up, and Guaraha hastily covered it. He supposed he would have to get some sleep, too, but in all honesty, he preferred the thought of facing the end of the world to that of facing the dreams his grief-stricken mind provided him.

* * *

Hours passed with all the speed of a dying snail and all the desperate urgency associated with death's approach. The Crystal Palace glowed steadily now with a full charge, and more Winglies had arrived from Ulara to take advantage of it, including Charle Frahma herself. Human and Wingly groups trained together with the weapons dug hastily out of Ulara's stockpile and those trickling in from Tiberoa and Serdio, as word spread and the southern kingdoms offered what support they could; a large amount of gold had provided some truly remarkable helmets from the merchant town of Lohan, helmets that blocked almost all magical attacks. 

Groups of both races were almost constantly on patrol now, with the Winglies taking the farther routes. Tension in Deningrad rose steadily, but there was no sign of the enemy.

_Which,_ Guaraha thought, _only makes everything worse, really...I hate not knowing what's happening!_ He had landed to rest for a moment in a deserted field, at one of the farthest points of his own route. He'd taken the longest one he could possibly manage, but without fail all he had seen when he strained his eyes in the direction of the fallen Moon was a deepening shadow against the sky.

He lifted a hand to shade himself from the sun, and stared toward it--and blinked in shock to find something else.

The flicker of blue-green wings identified the figures approaching from the west of Mille Seseau as Winglies at once, even before they were close enough to call a greeting. It had to be the group Miata had told him about, the scouts Charle had sent. But all four flew dangerously low to the ground, Guaraha thought, frowning. He lit his own wings to meet them. "What news?" he shouted.

There might have been a response, but it was too faint to make out. His frown deepening, Guaraha added speed and came up beside them. They didn't _look_ injured, no sign of blood or the scorch marks generally left in magical battles...

The man bringing up the rear gave a choked groan and began to slip toward the ground. Surprise didn't prevent Guaraha from diving to catch him, his hands on the other Wingly's shoulders, lending the strength of his own wings. "What _happened_ to you all?" he demanded.

With a pained grimace, the Wingly he was helping muttered, "First wave of the attack. Report to Charle. Virages and Super Virages, flight-capable, too many to count. With them, poison. Kills everything--plants, everything..." The words trailed off.

All of the man's remaining energy was going into his wings, Guaraha could tell, but they were flickering in warning. "You'll have to land here," Guaraha called to all in the scouting group. "There's no way you can make it all the way to Deningrad, but it's not far--I'll take your message and bring help."

The other three had closed in around him, their faces set in identical expressions of severe pain and absolute determination. But the determination cracked to make way for relief at his words. The ground approached rapidly; four pairs of wings shut off. Guaraha lowered his burden gently.

Only one of the men was still on his feet. "The standard battlefield cures had very little effect on this poison," he told Guaraha. "Tell Charle. It will take someone who knows healing spells." He winced in pain. "We teleported away from the Virages in order to report, but not fast enough--the poison got in our lungs. Teleported as far as we had strength. Then flew. It's been about six hours since we saw them. Don't know how much time we have left."

"Rest," Guaraha ordered him. "Help will be here soon."

The Wingly nodded once in weary gratitude, and collapsed in the long grass.

Guaraha looked around, at the grassy plain and snow-covered mountains, to be sure he could give proper coordinates for teleporting back, then lit his wings and made for Deningrad at something rather faster than what he'd always considered his top speed.

It took some minutes to reach Deningrad, some minutes more to find Charle and give a brief explanation, and no time flat for the Wingly leader to put one hand on his shoulder and one on Miata's, pull the image from his mind, and take them all there.

Miata yelped, tripping over one of the fallen Winglies, but pulled herself up, shook her head, and wasted no time in laying both hands on the man, glowing with gentle magic. Charle attended to another herself.

"Similarities to Dragon poison?" Miata observed absently. "Not quite the same--but isn't that odd?" The glow around her hands flared, and the Wingly scout pushed himself up as she moved to the next.

"Odd? No," Charle replied. "Dragon poison is one of the most virulent and hardest to be rid of, after all, and the Virages are meant to kill anything that might happen to be immune to it, like Dragons. Or Dragoons."

"Mm, perhaps," Miata murmured, tone thoughtful. "Still."

Guaraha looked from one to the other. "Dragon poison?" he queried, confused.

Shaking her head, Miata stood up, and looked at Guaraha. "_Not_ Dragon poison," she corrected. "Something very like it. Something based on Dragon poison, but..." she turned toward Charle, and Guaraha frowned to see the challenge in her expression. "It's been altered to respond well to particular Wingly spells...hasn't it, Charle? Not the standard ones...the deep-cleansing spells... And the Virages--those were never any of Soa's making, were they, Charle?"

Puzzled, Guaraha looked to Charle in some hope of getting a clue what Miata meant. The Wingly leader stood unmoving in the grass, her arms folded in on herself, peculiarly fragile.

"Yes, all right," she said at last, voice heavy with an almost unidentifiable mixture of grief and despair, "I see it, too, Miata." Charle sighed. "I had hoped--but no matter. What Miata is trying to say," she added to the confused Winglies around her, "is that she thinks my brother Melbu placed the poison and these Virages on the Moon. It would be nice to believe that he did it to destroy the Last Fruit, but it would appear, rather, that he intended to protect it."

"Melbu Frahma," the leader of the scout group said with great deliberation, "was an idiot; why should we be surprised?"

Charle chuckled, softly and rather grimly. "If my brother had been an idiot, all our lives would have been a great deal easier. Unfortunately, Melbu was worse than an idiot: he was highly intelligent, and completely insane."

Miata nodded fervent agreement to this. "It'd be just like him to leave a nasty surprise for a world that managed to free itself of him," she muttered.

"Is there anything we can do about it?" Guaraha demanded anxiously. "If this poison's coming at the same rate of the Virages, it'll reach Deningrad soon..."

With a thoughtful expression, Charle extended a hand to Guaraha. "There may be something," she murmured, and shook her head with a smile at his hopeful, questioning look. "I'll tell you later. We must get back to Deningrad--there are some things I need to have a look at."

"Are you well enough to teleport?" Miata asked the four scouts, all on their feet now, looking weary but alert enough. "I'll give you the location--lean on me if you feel like you might need support, all right?"

Not for the first time, Guaraha had to suppress a flicker of jealousy. He'd never felt especially envious of Pahlan's magical ability, or Ancestor Blano's, but everyone from Ulara seemed to have incomparably more than the entire Forest put together, and it didn't seem quite fair. He supposed he ought to take a hint as to how the Humans must feel about it.

"Ready, Guaraha?" Charle asked, and he nodded and took her hand. The world vanished in a bright flicker, and when the flicker faded, they stood in the wide area below the Crystal Palace. Miata and the four scouts appeared beside them the next moment with an identical flash of light.

About half a dozen Winglies and several Humans converged instantly at the sight of them. "You'd better let all your scout groups know, Guaraha, and get the Humans armed for battle," Charle took time to say before the worried people had pulled her off in a clamor of questions.

"Right," Guaraha said, and realized it was rather pointless as she obviously couldn't hear him. Virages were, in fact, one of the things the Winglies providing the training had given a great many instructions for dealing with. Guaraha wondered now whether Charle had had some notion that dealing with them would be necessary.

* * *

The next long-range Wingly scout group included an elderly Ularan man who was talented with healing, and reported back swiftly with bad news; the Virages, though flying in no particular order or formation, were getting steadily nearer. Their target was unmistakably Deningrad. 

"Because it's such a population center?" Miata speculated. "Or do they sense the magic?"

She stood uneasily beside Guaraha, behind a tumble of large boulders at the edge of a barren plain. Commander Travis was some distance in front of her. Two dozen Human knights and six Winglies sat, stood, and crouched nearby, weapons at the ready. There was little hope if they tried to battle all of the oncoming Virages at once, but they all hoped that by drawing one away from the others, the defenders might have a chance.

"What was it that Virages responded to in the Dragon Campaign?" Guaraha inquired, "population, or magic?"

Miata shrugged. "They took orders from Melbu, mostly, and his generals. Programmed to react to Dragons or Dragoons first, though--that was what the Emperor meant them for, fighting the Dragoons."

"So these will be running on whatever orders Melbu Frahma gave them before he died?" the Human commander asked.

"I suppose..." Miata cut off with a sharp hiss and leaned forward, pointing to a distant cloud against which a sharp beam of light had momentarily been outlined. "Virage fire," she identified, then, louder, "Spears ready! Hold for my signal!"

Each of the Humans raised a spear that glittered with signs of Wingly magic. Crouched in front of them, the Winglies traced symbols in the air, preparing the shield that would shortly be necessary.

A firefly spark of blue light sped toward them, drawing the dark bulk of the Virage relentlessly after it. The Wingly girl who had volunteered for the dangerous task dove for the shelter of the rocks, scant feet ahead of the burning light that speared the air above her.

The Virage's attack faded to darkness, and Guaraha stared speechless as it landed with a thump that shook the ground, towering above the plain. Its triangular head seemed considerably too large for its body, and it raised one long arm to rake at the rocks. Even Guaraha could sense the extraordinary levels of magic in the thing.

"Now!" Miata ordered, bringing her hand sharply down, and twenty-four spears flew unerringly for the Virage's head. The spells they carried triggered at the touch of the creature, and each struck and exploded, with growing force. "Shield!" Miata shouted over the noise.

Feeling nearly deafened, Guaraha made the mistake of not looking away. Six Winglies braced their linked magic to deflect the force of the growing whiteness, but nothing blocked its light. Guaraha huddled back behind the rock, blinking madly, tears streaming down his face. He could see nothing at all but a shimmering violet afterimage. Someone gave a pained cry, but he couldn't tell whether Human or Wingly.

It seemed an hour before Miata, her voice unnaturally calm, gave the order to release the shield.

The sparks had finally begun to clear from Guaraha's vision. He peered over the rocks. A young Wingly man seemed to have made the same mistake as he had, and now had his eyes buried in the crook of his arm. His part of the shield had evidently weakened, as he and everyone behind him had acquired a bright red tinge on their exposed skin not unlike a sunburn.

"You knew better than to look, Rynal," Miata scolded, opening a bottle of healing salve as she hurried to him. Over her shoulder, then, "But I'm sorry, Guaraha, I forgot to warn you about that. You're all right?"

"Fine, I think," Guaraha replied, blinking away the last of the violet shadows. "That was very efficient."

He could half see Miata's grimace. "Yes, we got rather skilled at it, though I'd rather hoped we wouldn't have to fight them anymore. Virages were everywhere just after the Dragon Campaign ended...we used to set an ambush and have Rose draw them out..." and she blinked very quickly several times, for reasons that Guaraha was sure had nothing to do with bright light.

"It was almost worth looking," Rynal put in, taking a handful of salve to rub into his face and handing the bottle on to the Humans. "The spears all hit at once and they glowed and the Virage sort of stumbled back and then its head just went whoosh--" He waved his hands in the air in an effort to simulate the explosion. Droplets of salve spattered across everyone in the vicinity.

Miata wiped her forehead irritably. "It was a Super Virage, and it used its last-ditch attack. Anyone would think you never believed what we told you, Rynal."

"Well, but I'd never seen one before!" he protested. "_I_ don't predate the Dragon Campaign like most of you."

If that had been a Super Virage, it hadn't been too terribly damaging, Guaraha thought with a flicker of returning optimism. Perhaps it would be possible to hold off these first waves after all...

"We fought a Super Virage and no one died?" one of the Human soldiers echoed the thought, voice full of startled hope.

"Only because we pulled off an ambush successfully," Miata warned. "If we'd given the thing any chance at a frontal battle, we would have lost many good people. We _did_ lose far too many people to the Virages over the years we fought them," she added, darkly. "But I hope you can benefit by what we managed to learn."

Commander Travis raised his visor and bowed slightly to her, his armor clanking. "We of Mille Seseau very much appreciate what you learned, Miata," he told her. The Humans behind him nodded fervently.

A reluctant smile crept across her face. "Well, it is nice to be appreciated," she conceded, and lit her wings to peer over the protective rocks. "Now, Commander, if you will recall more of what we told you about Virages, you'll know that there's work still to be done here. They have a nasty habit of going dormant when they're badly enough injured, and then waking decades or centuries later."

"Is that why they have that final attack?" Rynal asked curiously. "To make a safe place to sleep and recover?"

Miata frowned in his direction. "Very little about the Virages was natural. I expect Melbu Frahma added their final attack just as a surprise for his enemies."

"Not _every_ bad thing in the world has to be Melbu Frahma's fault," Rynal muttered under his breath. At Miata's sharp look, he subsided.

Ignoring both of them, Guaraha moved to kneel beside the brave decoy. The Ularan girl--she had introduced herself, briefly, as Vielan--still sat gasping behind the rocks, her head low. She wore a trim rust-colored dress designed not to interfere with speed of flight, and one side of it was charred almost black despite the helm she wore, an ancient artifact that gave tremendous protection against magical attacks. She cradled one hand as though it still felt the pain of the magical fire, but the skin was clear and uninjured; Miata, of course, had attended to her at once. "Are you all right?" Guaraha asked her in concern.

She nodded breathlessly, knees drawn up to her chest, heaving with the effort of gulping for air. "Almost--almost didn't make it--never thought it could be so _fast_..." She had to stop for a long moment, shaking her head. "Teleported twice--was afraid it'd lose me, but I had to get ahead somehow. It's dead?"

"We won," Guaraha assured her. "You did very well."

"Rose would have done it better," Vielan said wistfully. "I've heard _all_ the stories." She sighed. "But then, I had to keep its attention by attacking it, and Rose would always have their attention from the beginning, being a Dragoon."

The dull ache flared again at the word, and Guaraha couldn't quite block out the thought, _If only Meru hadn't been a Dragoon--!_

Which was foolish from the start. She'd chosen her Human friends long before the Dragoon Spirit had accepted her, and there wasn't a force in the world that could keep Meru from doing something she had decided to do. She would never have let her friends go into danger without her. And he should never have let--

"It must be hard losing Rose," he found himself saying to the Ularan, and could have bitten his tongue for the words at seeing the way her face went still.

Vielan focused cool ruby eyes on a point infinite distances away from him, and ice colder than Mille Seseau's glaciers crackled in her voice. "I will _not_ believe that we have lost Rose."

Guaraha fumbled for something to salvage the situation, but there was really nothing to say.

A hand came to rest gently on his shoulder from behind--he turned with a start to see Miata's face. Something in her eyes assured him that she understood entirely too well a thing that Vielan could not.

"Vielan, if you've recovered a bit, we could use your help," Miata said quietly, tilting her head to indicate the dark smoke that drifted from the defeated Virage. The girl didn't object, but pushed herself smoothly to her feet and walked away without a glance at either of them.

Guaraha shut his eyes and slid down the rough stone to sit where she had been, feeling weakness creep into his muscles. "That was a tactless, horrible thing to say to her...I'm sorry, Miata." There was no way he could hope she hadn't heard him.

"We Ularans are an odd lot," she said, after a moment's pause. "Some of us watched nearly everyone and everything we knew die and disappear...and some are three thousand years old and have never once experienced loss." Another long silence. "It would be very hard indeed to lose Rose. I don't think any of us are ready to give up on her."

He traced the jagged edge of the stone outcropping with his eyes, unwilling to look into the woman's face. "But there's no hope..." He heard his voice break, waver, saw his fist clench as though from a great distance away. "It's come, the Moon...all of them would have died before letting that..."

Gravel shifted under her feet. "The Signet Spheres were delicate things," she said eventually. "Long-lasting, but delicate. The wards Charle set to guard them will have grown considerably weaker with the Moon-Child alive. Difficult things to protect...and the one who wanted to break them knew precisely where they were."

"Then you think--" His heart had leapt suddenly into his mouth, and the words had to be choked out. "--you think the Dragoons might be--might still be--"

"Like Vielan," Miata admitted softly, "I won't believe that we've lost Rose..." She shook her head once, a sharp movement as though to banish some pestering insect. "But all that matters now is that we do what we can here. It's about time we Ularans started doing our part again, anyhow."

Guaraha had to agree with the sentiment; his ancestors hadn't done much good locked up in their isolation, either. At least the Ularans had supported Rose, even if they hadn't done much of anything themselves for thousands of years; the Winglies of the Evergreen Forest had kept busy primarily with what had been, if ten thousand years of village records could be trusted, little more than petty bickering and gossip. The only decent stories were the oldest ones...the blood pounding in his head made it difficult to think.

A sudden surge of startled cries, an exclamation from the other side of the rise--"Miata, _help_!" It was Rynal's voice, sounding very young in panic. "It's _moving_!"

"Oh, blast," Miata muttered, and in one smooth motion she was airborne, wings lit and humming to push her above the shielding rocks. Guaraha followed suit a little slower.

One of the other Winglies had a faster reaction time than Rynal; the glimmering sigil of an attack spell was still fading from the air when Guaraha gained enough height to see over the tumbled stone, and a harsh scent of smoke seeped through the air. The summoned fire flared blue and orange--Miata raised her fists, and Guaraha felt her pouring still more power into the flames that surrounded the Virage's twitching body. At last the fire subsided, leaving behind an acrid heat, and a worried hush fell.

"Is it dead?" Commander Travis asked at last.

Miata landed cautiously inches away from the charred heap, now little more than ash. "Virages," she said flatly, "don't know when they'd be better off to give up and die."

The Human commander stepped forward, reached out with the tip of an extra spear, and prodded the blackened mass roughly. What was left of the Virage collapsed shapelessly in on itself.

Nodding in faint satisfaction, Miata relaxed very slightly. "Using a normal fire would have been easier, but as we couldn't take the chance, the supplies can wait for the next Virage," she told Commander Travis. The Virage's carcass, she had explained carefully to all of them before the battle, would have to burn completely to make sure it would never again be a threat. They had brought plenty of fuel to do so, but most of it hadn't been touched.

He looked at Vielan, still pale and breathing hard for all that she tried to look casual and relaxed, Guaraha noted. "Your decoy led this one a fine chase," Commander Travis said with slow concern, "but anyone can see she's exhausted. There are hundreds of these things, the scouts said..."

Vielan glared and tossed her hair, a platinum curtain cropped chin-length. "I could do it again now if you lot were ready," she snapped.

The soldier grinned. "No offense meant, of course. But there are so _many_ of them, and there seem so few of you. Seems to me that we've got to find ways of fighting them that don't use up so much of your magic."

"It would be useful," Miata conceded, "but I don't know that it's practical."

"We can discuss it at the next meeting, then." The Human straightened, an uncharacteristically labored movement. "And unless I miss my guess, Miata, everyone here needs a touch of your healing spell. Can you feel it? We're weakening already."

Guaraha raised his head sharply at this, and winced as a throbbing pain shot through the space behind his eyes. The commander was right, inarguably right, more the pity.

Miata's breath hissed softly at the same realization. "Blast it," she muttered again. "Airborne, and it comes with the Virages. And the battlefield cures don't work." A sigh. "We'll heal everyone here--and then I'll teleport you and Guaraha back to Deningrad, Commander. We desperately need a strategy session."

* * *

The dining-room table in the house where Wink still lay recovering was long enough to seat any reasonable number of people. In fact it was long enough to seat quite unreasonable numbers of people, Pahlan thought; the house belonged to the royal family and from time to time hosted events unsuitable for the palace which nonetheless involved a great many guests, Setie had told him. 

While the number of people who had to come to the meeting was nowhere near enough to halfway fill the enormous table, it was considerably more than could fit in the small kitchen where those living in the house actually ate. Pahlan slid uncomfortably into one of the straight-backed wooden chairs as far away from the head of the table as felt inconspicuous, looking to see who else was trickling into the room.

Setie took the chair beside him almost at once, though Luanna had the place at Queen Theresa's right hand some distance away; Pahlan raised an eyebrow to see Halin seated next to the blind Sacred Sister. The second place of honor was still empty, but since Miata had the seat next to it, Pahlan guessed it was meant for the Wingly leader of Ulara--Charle Frahma.

A plump woman in a maid's uniform, her gray hair neatly twisted into a bun, appeared at the door and curtsied smoothly to the Human Queen. "Sister Wink orders me to attend this meeting," she said, voice pleasant but clearly audible, "on the account that no one else will have time to report what goes on, and she very much wants to know. Have I your permission, my queen?"

"Of course, Felicia," Queen Theresa acknowledged, with a wry smile. "Wink is probably correct."

The maid dipped another curtsy and took an empty chair. Beside Pahlan, Setie giggled softly. "That's just like Felicia," she said at his inquiring look. "If Wink hadn't asked, she'd still find some way to be here...she can keep a secret better than anyone else in the palace, but she hates not knowing what's going on."

The empty chair to Pahlan's left scraped as it was pulled out, and he turned to see Veria's uncertain smile. "It's good to see you awake," he greeted her. Between her need for rest and the rush to have everything prepared, Pahlan had barely spoken to the young Wingly since her collapse.

Her smile faded in memory. "It's good to be awake. I wanted to ask you, no one's told me anything--what happened with Prado?"

There was a reason everyone had been reluctant to tell her. Pahlan grimaced slightly. "Can I tell you later? The meeting's just about to start and all..."

"I suppose," Veria agreed unwillingly. Most of the expected participants had by this time arrived, Human and Wingly, and the only conspicuously empty chair was the one beside the queen.

The sharp white light of teleportation brought everyone abruptly to silence. There was scarcely a moment's time to wonder who had come in such fashion before the Lady Frahma stood before them in a gown of spotless white trimmed in gold, sweeping her full skirts into an elegant, archaic dip of respect that was vaguely similar to a bow and distinctly unlike the maid's curtsy. A vision of Wingly glory from the long-dead past, Pahlan caught himself thinking--the smooth ivory perfection of her face was the very image of the aristocracy he had once so eagerly listened to Prado talk about.

"I'm sorry to arrive so suddenly, your Majesty," Charle Frahma apologized. "There was a detail I needed to check." She took her seat gracefully.

"It's quite all right, but as you're here let's begin," Queen Theresa responded. A smile softened the words, but the worry was plain on the queen's face. "As I understand it, we have two immediate issues to deal with," she began without delay. "I'm certain you are all aware by now that Guaraha's scout groups have reported Virages heading for Deningrad, numbers indeterminate, a hundred being a conservative estimate. And secondly, approaching with the Virages is what seems to be an airborne poison of some kind."

Everyone in the room had heard the news already, but Pahlan could feel the atmosphere grow colder at the reminder. Setie's delicate fingers wound silently into his own beneath the table.

"Last," the queen continued, her expression drawing yet tighter, "there is the threat which we still have no news about. Despite the release of the Virages and the poison, there does not seem to be any movement at all from the fallen Moon itself."

Setie's grip tightened; shaking her head, she burst out, "I don't understand! Why is it _taking_ so long? It wants to kill us all--why is it waiting?"

Charle shrugged. "Obvious, isn't it, that this is meant to soften us up--if this vanguard of Virages doesn't do it, the poison will. As to why...if Soa knows, I'm sure I don't."

"The question," Miata said grimly, "is, do we use all our strength now, and risk having too little left to fight with when the final battle is upon us? Or do we hold back now, wait for the battle to come to us, and risk the lives of everyone in the way?"

Queen Theresa shook her head at once. "I cannot put the lives of my people in jeopardy. If we fail to stop this poison, it may well be that too few of us will be left alive to fight...Human and Wingly both. We have no choice."

The Wingly leader sighed. "You're quite right, of course." She looked up. "The poison is the main thing. We can fight these minor Virages, but not if everyone in Deningrad is sick. Agreed?"

Assent ran swiftly around the table. "The first battle was certainly a success," Commander Travis added, "using the weapons and strategy you provided, Lady Frahma."

"None of this formality, please!" Charle protested. It might have been the name that made her scowl briefly. "But the poison--not quite standard? The ordinary cures have failed?"

"Some slowing of its effects is about all we can manage on the field," the knight reported.

From down the table, a Human man, stooped with age, hair wispy and almost white enough to pass for Wingly, added, "Time in a clinic seems to get rid of it, but at a much longer exposure than normal." The owner of the clinic and inn had spent considerable time with several of the affected scouts, experimenting.

Charle nodded. "The treatment used in the clinics is based on a very old Wingly technology, one I provided your ancestors with myself, in fact. You Humans have actually managed to improve it considerably, as far as the ratio of power used to effectiveness, and what's more you've altered it to run on a highly efficient source--sunlight. I've had a look at it, and I really must say how impressed I am." She smiled, a startlingly genuine expression given the situation. "Extending the range to drive the poison out of the water and the ground, that will be the tricky part. Fortunately, our friends from the Forest have done a remarkable job of setting up this focusing crystal..."

Setie leaned forward eagerly. "You can run the spell through the Crystal Palace?"

"I think so, yes. A general sweep should clear everything within at least five hundred miles of Deningrad. I'll do it myself the first few times, but I expect any Wingly of moderate skill can maintain it once it's set up."

"Five hundred miles." Queen Theresa sighed, relief and awe mingling in her voice. "That will cover all of Mille Seseau, and our coastal waters. It may even reach Donau in Tiberoa."

With a smile of assent, Charle added, "Here, and our city Ulara, will be the line of defense. Nothing will get by us to poison Tiberoa and Serdio." A moment's hesitation, and the smile faded from her eyes. "It will give them time to prepare for their own battle."

Silence closed in on the gathering, as somber as the leaden sky outside. "You don't think we can do it," Luanna said at last. "Even with everything we have, you think it won't be enough."

Charle laced and unlaced her fingers, looking intently down at them; her knuckles were white. "You're right," she admitted, softly, "I can't believe that we could possibly win."

A sigh; Miata's hand came to rest on Charle's shoulder, and squeezed gently. "Well, that's what happens when one's been trapped in an endless battle for ten thousand years," Miata said briskly. "It never _ends_, you see. But we're certainly not going to stop fighting _now_."

"Certainly not," Charle echoed, and looked up again, something of her smile returning. "Now, as for the Virages. The first battle went well, but with the numbers we expect, we must find ways to dispatch them more efficiently..."

* * *

The meeting ended much as it had begun, in tension and worry strung through with painful prickles of hope. The room emptied swiftly; no one's duties allowed for idleness. 

Pahlan made it only half out of his chair before a stern hand gripped his arm. "It's after the meeting," Veria said with deceptive mildness. "What happened to Prado, Bardel? You're all avoiding the issue and I won't have it."

"Ah--well," he began, looking rather desperately to Setie.

The Human folded her arms and pinned him inescapably with a frown. "No one's told me, either. Go on, Pahlan, you can't get away this time."

For a half-panicked moment, he wondered if teleporting away would be worth what both of them would do to him later for it. It probably wouldn't be. Besides, they had to find out at some point...

Pahlan took a deep breath and started at something approximating the beginning. "I teleported directly to Ancestor Blano's tower, I figured he'd be able to help me handle Prado if anyone could. I was afraid he would be asleep, but he wasn't--a large group from Ulara had just arrived, including Lady Frahma and Miata. I found them all up by the teleporter and explained as much as I knew, about you and Prado and what he'd done. Ancestor Blano, Lady Frahma, and two Ularans came with me to Prado's home."

"He'd have sealed it, wouldn't he?" Veria said thoughtfully. "He's always been paranoid, I remember the teleporter was specially designed..."

_Never noticed that Veria paid attention to what Prado did,_ an uneasy thought drifted across Pahlan's mind. Ancestor Blano had been quite outspoken about the magic Prado's efforts had wasted, though, that was probably why she knew. Of course it was. Calling himself back to the subject, Pahlan nodded belated agreement to her statement. "He'd shut it down completely. That didn't stop Lady Frahma, though, she just shoved a surge of her own power through to activate it and went in. All by herself, because the teleporter faded again right away and we couldn't follow. It was only a few minutes after that when the Moon fell, which was...distracting."

Veria offered a grim smile. "Prado found it very distracting as well, as I recall...though now that I think about it, Lady Frahma might have been helping me, I wasn't in any shape to notice."

"Anyway, Lady Frahma came out and ordered Miata to take a group directly to Deningrad, and things were very confused for a while." Pahlan paused uneasily. Here was the part he really didn't want to have to tell her. "She brought Prado out with her--Prado's body. He's dead. There wasn't a mark on him...Lady Frahma told us it was some kind of mental backlash."

All the blood left Veria's face as he spoke, and she lurched forward, trembling. "But that would mean that I..." she whispered, shaking her head in urgent denial. "I can't have killed him, Bardel. I can't have--I wouldn't--"

Pahlan searched for something to say that would comfort the girl--he was quite sure that _You didn't mean to_ would help very little, and _He deserved it_ even less, no matter how true the statements might be. He patted her quivering shoulder awkwardly and shot a helpless glance toward Setie.

The Sacred Sister had gone rather pale herself, but she gathered her composure and slipped around behind Pahlan to embrace the distraught Wingly girl. "You saved my life, mine and Halin's, at the least," Setie murmured. "I know it isn't your fault Prado died. Anyone else with any sense will know it, too. He overestimated his own strength, trying to do so much, and if the shock of it killed him there's no one to blame but himself."

Veria drew a shuddering breath, hands twisting together in her lap. "I--yes, you're right, of course, Setie, but..."

"You should talk with Lady Frahma," Setie urged gently. "She can tell you exactly why Prado died, and no one else can. You won't feel right until you hear it from her."

She looked up in faint surprise at the suggestion. "No, I couldn't possibly do that, she's far too busy right now." Veria attempted a smile. "I know everything you said is true, Setie, it's just going to take a while for me to feel things that way. I--I'll see you later."

Veria rose and left the room so quickly that Pahlan rather suspected she was going to cry in private. That was her right, he supposed, but he couldn't help a twinge of worry. He owed Veria. In the Forest, Pahlan had never thought anything of the girl beyond the frequent disparaging remarks about her lack of magic, but during Prado's attack she had shown a courage he'd never suspected. She was a gentle spirit, and he'd known that being partially responsible for Prado's death would affect her deeply.

And then there was that comment Lady Frahma had made when telling them of Prado's death...

Setie's soft hand on his arm drew him from his thoughts to smile down at her. "There's something else that's bothering you about this," the Sacred Sister stated, her forehead creased slightly with concern. "I can tell. What is it?"

Pahlan sighed. "Something Lady Frahma mentioned. Veria and Prado were linked by mind and magic when he died. If I understood her right--well, nobody in the Forest will ever be able to call Veria powerless again."

"You mean, his magic..." Setie frowned. "I think you were right not to tell her yet. This will be hard enough for her."

"That's basically what Lady Frahma said," Pahlan agreed, and was pleasantly surprised when Setie leaned in and pressed a quick, timid kiss to his cheek.

She drew back at once, blushing noticeably, blue eyes fixed downward. "I should--I should go..."

"There's a great deal to get done," Pahlan agreed, with a split-second's hesitation for his thoughts to catch up again. He'd made his decision, and he'd put off acting on it for long enough. "I have some things I need to take care of as well." He bent, before he could lose his nerve, and swiftly placed a kiss in her hair, just in front of the blue cap she wore. The golden strands were even softer than he'd expected and smelled faintly of flowers.

The image of her radiant smile stayed with him a few minutes later, and he was quite grateful for the boost it provided his courage. A deep breath. The guards at either side of the door nodded politely at him in recognition and let him through.

Since the throne room of the Crystal Palace had become a focus for magic and almost always filled with Winglies, Queen Theresa conducted most official business from an elegant reception hall that had once been the house's ballroom. The royal maids had conspired to make the place look as much like the palace as was possible without replacing the roof with crystal. It was certainly no less intimidating, Pahlan couldn't help thinking.

The Queen of Mille Seseau was studying what looked like an incomprehensibly color-coded map of her kingdom when he entered, but she set it down and rose to greet him. "Mr. Bardel! I hope nothing's wrong?"

Pahlan bowed a little deeper than he might have. "Nothing to my knowledge, your Majesty..." And couldn't seem to get his tongue around what it was he wanted to say next. How did you _ask_ something like this?

She was smiling at him, he noticed as he straightened, a knowing glint in her eyes that unsettled him even more. "I'm pleased to hear it. What brings you here, then?" _Surely_ that hadn't been a wink. Had it?

Well, he'd already decided he wasn't going to let this wait any longer. Pahlan took a deep breath and plunged recklessly forward. "Queen Theresa, I wish to marry your daughter, the Fourth Sacred Sister Setie. I will meet any conditions you feel are proper. May I have your consent to propose to her?"

"I take it this means you haven't asked _her_ yet," the queen remarked conversationally. "Are you so confident of her reply?"

It hurt just to consider the possibility, but it certainly wasn't one that Pahlan had overlooked. Setie might very well come to her senses and decide he wasn't half good enough for her. "If you object to me, your Majesty, I will not ask. I cannot force Setie to choose between me and her family."

An eyebrow arched elegantly; the smile had vanished, which Pahlan found less than reassuring. "Very thoughtful of you. Have you thought also of the danger marrying you would put Setie in? She's been attacked once already, and that on mere suspicion."

"There aren't very many people who think like Prado did," he argued, "and once everyone recognizes what an idiot he was there'll be even fewer. Besides, I can protect her."

"Even assuming I accept that, don't you think Setie's a bit young for marriage?" Queen Theresa inquired. "She still wears the blue cap--she's no more than a child."

Pahlan shook his head. "I know any number of adults who act far more childish than Setie. And I'm not asking her to rush into anything--three years is the standard length of a betrothal. I'll wait longer, if you find that insufficient."

The queen was silent for a long moment, and Pahlan waited, counting the long seconds. Trained for diplomacy, the Human ruler's face betrayed nothing of her thoughts. At last, she said, "None of us know whether the world will last three more years. Why ask now, in this time of uncertainty?"

This answer at least came easily, after long hours spent considering it. "Because if the world's going to end, I want Setie to know how much I love her."

Queen Theresa sighed. "I knew when you walked in what you had come about," she admitted. "I was going to tell you to wait a few years. But...you have my blessing." A glimmer of a smile restored itself. "Hurt her and you'll have everyone in Deningrad out for your blood, you do realize."

"I wouldn't want it any other way," Pahlan agreed, returning the smile.

He politely took his leave once the queen had finished giving him a few more admonitions about how he ought, and ought not, to treat Setie. The stern warnings did little to dim his joy, since they were fairly predictable and concerned nothing he'd ever intended to do anyway.

A portion of the knot of trepidation in his stomach had loosened with the Queen's permission. Unfortunately, of the people he needed to speak with about this, she had probably been the easiest.

* * *

Ancestor Blano looked up expectantly at the gentle sound of someone arriving on the upper level by personal teleportation. Once upon a time that had been very unusual, with himself and the Bardel brothers the only ones in the village who were capable of it, but since the arrival of the Ularans he'd grown rather accustomed. 

The lift hummed for a moment, and opened. Somewhat to Blano's surprise, Pahlan Bardel stepped out. A distinct feel of guarded trepidation emanated from the young Wingly, and Blano wondered at it.

"Ancestor," Pahlan greeted, going briefly to one knee in respect.

Blano smiled at him, not least because he still hadn't quite gotten used to a fully respectful tone from a Bardel, and came down from his chair by way of returning the greeting. "Welcome back, Pahlan. How are things going in Deningrad?"

A very faint grimace flickered over the young man's face. "Considering that we're facing an enemy that doesn't seem to have any limits, we're holding our own pretty well so far. I'm here to report on a strategy meeting we've just finished, and you need to know, too, that I told Veria about Prado."

"Ah." Blano sighed. He'd known it would be hard for the compassionate girl to hear. "How did she take it?"

"About as well as I could possibly expect her to--she's horrified at the thought, of course, but I think she understands it wasn't really her fault. And better Prado than any of the people he was trying to kill." Pahlan's jaw clenched. "I'd have killed him myself cheerfully enough if I could have."

Blano nodded. "I know she has plenty of friends to help her work through it. She'll recover well enough, if any of us manage to live long enough for her to have the chance. So, to improve the odds of our survival--this strategy session?" He raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"Right, right." Pahlan took a moment to recollect his thoughts, then delivered a concise but accurate summary of all the pertinent information. The news that Charle Frahma had a way to clear out the poison in a wide area came particularly welcome to Blano. The trees would have been vulnerable to the Virage poison, harder to cure than individuals, and their loss would have meant the loss of a vast majority of the power the village used to survive day to day. The heat, the short-range linked teleporters, the lights, and the curative magic that could otherwise have held off the poison in his people, all were drawn from the living magic of the ancient trees.

"I've nothing to add," he said, when Pahlan had finished. "I'm certainly no expert on fighting Virages, and the Ularans are. There may be something we of the Forest can do to help, though. If Lady Frahma will send someone to show us how, I'm certain we can help to create these weapons--we'll need them in vast numbers, if I understand you, and our magic levels are still high enough for that."

"Good idea," Pahlan agreed at once. "I'll tell her."

Ancestor Blano waited for the young Wingly to go on, or to take his leave, but Pahlan just continued to stand there, as though gathering confidence. Blano felt a frown deepen the lines in his forehead. He had a disconcerting premonition he might know what this was about.

Pahlan cleared his throat nervously. "Ancestor," he started, trailed off, drew a deep breath, and straightened to meet Blano's gaze squarely. "I intend to ask Fourth Sacred Sister Setie to marry me," he said bluntly. "As the only one left in my family, custom does not require me to ask anyone's permission for this. But the Forest has always been my home, and I would prefer not to be thrown out of it. If Setie accepts me, will you give us your blessing?"

The steps worked well enough for a seat, as Blano found it abruptly necessary to sit down. There had been some indication of the boy's feelings when Pahlan had brought the news about Prado's attack, of course, but even so, this seemed very sudden. "You know," he said--it came out in an unnaturally calm tone--"I was rather under the impression, when I sent you to Deningrad, that you disapproved of interaction with Humans."

"I did," Pahlan agreed. "I changed my mind. Or Setie changed it for me."

Blano shook his head. "Pahlan, you know how people are likely to react to this. I expect you have the support of those who went with you, and I don't think anyone feels quite so violently on the issue as Prado did, but...is this wise? It could cause a great deal of trouble in the Forest."

The young man spread his hands. "To be honest, Ancestor, I don't much care what people in the Forest think about it anymore. Not since Prado decided to kill Setie on the mere possibility. Once we're officially engaged, everyone will know Setie is under my protection. That's safer for her than trying to ignore the rumors or keep it secret. And I don't believe there's anyone left in the Forest who would challenge me."

"In other words, you don't really care what my answer is," Blano interpreted, dryly.

Pahlan sighed, lowering his eyes. "You've always had my respect, Ancestor, even if it didn't seem like it at times, and your approval does matter to me. But between the Forest and Setie, I would have no alternative but to choose Setie, if she will have me."

Rising slowly to his feet, Blano folded his hands within the long sleeves of his robe of office. "I told Meru that she should be our guide in the Human world…help us to know whether the time was right to rejoin it." He raised an ironic eyebrow. "I certainly never expected you to force the issue before she returned--at least, not from this direction."

He watched the young man's face grow tense with pain. "Am I to be an exile, then, Ancestor, as Meru was?" Pahlan asked, voice low and tightly controlled. The whisper of tradition argued for an affirmative answer. Blano gritted his teeth and shoved it aside, with difficulty. If Pahlan had found the happiness with a Human girl that he had never found in the Forest, he could not take that from them--particularly not when doing so might mean trouble with the Humans of Deningrad that he could not risk.

Blano shut his eyes--_Archangel, grant that I'm not destroying our people!_ "You and Setie...have my blessing," he murmured. "I don't know that it will be safe for you, or Setie, to live here, particularly together. But you will not be an exile."

He heard Pahlan release a gusty sigh. "Thank you, Ancestor," the young man said, voice sincere. "It means--it means a lot."

"Well." Blano opened his eyes to peer at the young man. "If the world's going to end in a few days or weeks or whatever, I can't find it in me to deny you and young Setie your happiness. And if it doesn't, I expect all of us prejudiced Winglies will have to re-think our opinions about Humans."

Pahlan smiled, relief and the remnants of apprehension both clearly visible in his face. "I'd say you're pretty open-minded already, for a prejudiced Wingly, Ancestor."

Slowly, Blano smiled back. "Get on back to Deningrad, Pahlan. Don't make Setie wait too long."

He moved back toward his seat as the young man headed quickly for the lift to the long-range teleporter, the faint smile lingering. If Pahlan Bardel could fall in love with a Human girl, maybe it was possible for the being that was supposed to end the world to be defeated. Certainly it couldn't be any less likely...

* * *

His knuckles were white in their clutch of a small, intricately carved wooden box. The rhythmic jolt of his heels against the floor as he paced was doing very little to calm him. Then again, maybe it _was_ calming him, in which case he'd hate to stop, because if he were any less calm he had a queasy feeling that he would faint, or something similarly embarrassing. 

Good thing Guaraha wasn't here, because Guaraha always tried to make him stop pacing. Then again, Guaraha always managed to calm him down somehow, too. But of course he'd be even more nervous if he had anyone else watching him for this. This was--this was--

Sacan would have killed him for this. Pahlan sighed as the thought of his brother shivered uneasily through his mind, as it always did. Sacan would have killed him for this, but Sacan had been wrong. It was no longer difficult to admit that. He had loved his brother--Archangel smite him, but he still loved his brother, just as much as he loved Tiala--but blaming these Humans for what had happened to Tiala was wrong.

Though someday, if there was a someday to be had, he was going to look up the Humans who did deserve the blame, the ones he and Sacan hadn't found. His free hand clenched into a fist. Setie would help him with that, he was quite certain.

_Setie..._ His eyes dropped again to the box. Maybe this was the wrong choice, maybe he'd gotten things all wrong, what if she--what if she hated him after this, what if she never wanted to see him again...

No. He'd made up his mind and whatever the consequences were he would just have to face them. Not like he really deserved someone like Setie, anyway.

Pahlan drew a deep breath, slipped the small box into its hiding place, a pocket at his waist, and sealed it in carefully. He had more often used the pocket for transporting a concealed weapon than jewelry, but it suited the purpose: it wasn't obvious he carried anything, and Setie wouldn't notice until he was ready. Sort of ready. Well, until he managed to get the words out, anyway.

A light tap at the door informed Pahlan that the time for running through his slightly stale thoughts was over. He turned at once to open it to Setie, who was carrying a rather large basket and wearing clothes borrowed from Niama, a long gown with accessories more often worn by Winglies (who knew a considerable amount about the behavior of dresses in flight) than by Humans (who generally didn't fly much). Her smile at seeing him lit up her whole face--she was more beautiful than ever when she smiled, and he hoped his own expression wasn't too idiotic.

Pahlan ushered Setie into the room. It was a nice enough room, as Human rooms went, but the primary reason for choosing it was that it overlooked most of the surrounding roofs and had a convenient balcony. "Ready to go?" he asked her, taking the basket.

Setie nodded. "But are you sure you can manage the basket, too? I asked for a _light_ lunch, but I'm not sure the palace cooks know the definition."

He grinned, and reassured her, "I can manage. Levitation's a very simple spell, the first one most people learn, and I've always been counted one of the strongest magic-users in the Forest." Not that he could compare with any of the Ularans, but it was plenty to do what he generally needed.

As further proof, he held out the basket in one hand and wove a quick spell with the other. When he lowered both arms, the basket remained alone in midair, bobbing slightly in place. "No weight at all, see? Even if I were to drop it, it wouldn't fall--just gradually sink over the next hour or so as the spell wears off." _I wouldn't risk you, Setie,_ he wanted to say. Instead he settled for wordlessly weaving the same spell about the girl he loved. He held out a hand to her, smiling. "Try it out."

A gentle tug lifted her effortlessly into the air, hovering several inches above the floor. Setie laughed with delight and pushed off his hand to spin herself around once. "It's wonderful, Pahlan. Oh," she added, biting her lip in sudden worry, "you can take it off when we get back, right? It's great fun but it might make getting around rather difficult."

"It's not hard to remove the spell," Pahlan told her, "easier to remove than to cast, even. Shall we go?"

"Certainly," Setie grinned. "I can't wait!"

Carefully, Pahlan encircled her waist with one arm and took hold of the basket again. He channeled magic to his wings, which sprang to life with their usual pulsing hum, and lifted off the balcony. Setie flung both arms around his neck at the motion, but didn't seem unduly alarmed. He looked down and found her watching the receding roofs in wonder.

Levitation and its related weight-reducing spells were the most basic form of Wingly magic, as natural to most as their wings, since flying was closely related to it. Even Meru could manage the flying and levitation spells, though she'd never gotten past that, Pahlan remembered. It was a good thing she was now using her newfound Dragoon power to do her fighting and not her inborn Wingly skills, because she had none to speak of.

Well, that wasn't quite true. He had always believed she was cheating a bit with that hammer she liked so much. It was far too big for her to manage without some small touch of magic. Levitation changed the actual mass of an object not at all, and thus its momentum when swung could be pretty devastating. Pahlan had learned that the hard way in his own youthful indiscretions.

He smiled at the memory. All these happier times that he had nearly forgotten, before he'd met Setie.

It was a nice feeling, holding her. He couldn't help hoping they could do something like this again. It wasn't likely to be soon, though; it had taken all his persuasiveness to get himself and Setie off duty for an hour and a half, and he'd had to swear to teleport back at any sign of trouble. Everyone was needed now that the Moon had fallen, and the Virages were steadily coming closer; they were only perhaps another day from the outskirts of Deningrad.

But for now they were only a dim and disturbing cloud far away, and the city sparkled below. Not all the rebuilding was done, of course, but most of the rubble from the Divine Dragon's attack had been cleared away, and the damage was hardly visible this high up. The Crystal Palace gave a steady glow even in the daylight, pulsing with energy as Charle and several others worked to expand protection from the deadly poisons. The land rose into high cliffs nearby and, farther off, the snowy peaks of the higher mountains stretched for the sky. The Evergreen Forest faded misty green into the distance.

Pahlan hovered for a long moment once they were some distance above the Crystal Palace, watching Setie as she looked everywhere in undisguised delight. The wind whispered about them, chill with a threat of frost, but the sun shone above and they were dressed for the cold.

The food in the basket, on the other hand, wouldn't stay warm much longer, Pahlan realized with a quiet sigh of regret. "We can stay up here a little longer on the way back, if you like," he promised Setie, "but we'd better eat first. Wouldn't want to waste the cooks' hard work."

Setie giggled. "Right. Where did you say we were going to eat?"

"Over there." Pahlan nodded in the direction of the southwestern cliffs.

He had found the place during one of his turns at short-range scouting, a sheltered ledge inaccessible except by flight, where hardy, sweet-smelling flowers covered the rock, and the bite of the wind was minimal. It commanded an impressive view of Deningrad and the surrounding countryside. He'd wished, on seeing it, that Setie was with him, and now he had the chance to show it to her.

Her expression was all that he had hoped, and Pahlan smiled to himself as he set the basket carefully down, keeping his arm around Setie. She stared at the flowers, and the view of the city that the ledge commanded. "Oh, Pahlan, it's beautiful," she murmured.

"I thought you would like it," he said. "It's pretty high up, though--you may feel safer if I leave the spell on you while we eat. It shouldn't interfere with anything."

Setie peered over the edge. "I might prefer that," she agreed, and grinned at him. "Though I'm sure you would catch me if I fell, anyway."

"Of course--but let's not try it." Pahlan took the levitation off the basket, which was giving off smells that made him wonder if the palace cooks had tried to fit an entire formal banquet in there. He took out the blanket, spread it over the low, springy plants, and in sudden good spirits offered a courtly bow to Setie. "Shall we eat, Sacred Sister?"

She responded with a considerably more practiced curtsy, no less graceful for her weighing almost nothing. "Certainly, Mr. Bardel."

The meal was as good as it had smelled, though there was considerably too much for the two of them to eat. All through it, Pahlan tried very hard not to fidget and was doubtful about his success. If Setie noticed anything wrong, though, she didn't mention it.

At last the remainder was packed into the basket again. Setie looked out over Deningrad's wide expanse with a faintly wistful sigh, her gaze focusing on the glimmering spire of the Crystal Palace. "Do you think we can really win, Pahlan?" she asked softly. "If Soa wants to destroy the world, how can we win?"

Pahlan looked at Setie rather than at Deningrad. "Life has things worth fighting for," he said, "even when it looks like we can't win. And anyway, if one small group of Winglies and a single Dragoon has been enough to delay Soa's fate for eleven thousand some-odd years, I think we've got a fighting chance at stopping it."

Setie nodded silently, and leaned her golden head against his shoulder. Pahlan cautiously wrapped an arm about her once more, and knew that if he didn't say now what he had planned, he would never find the courage to try again.

He reached for the little box, fingers wrapping around its familiar shape. "Setie, I--" he began. She looked up at him, blue eyes wide with trust and faint curiosity, and every word he'd prepared went completely out of his mind's reach for a heart-stopping moment.

Pahlan cleared his throat and started over. "Even though--even though the world may not last another few weeks, or days, for all we know...I want to spend whatever time I have with you, Setie." He didn't dare to look at her. He couldn't stop now, and he would freeze if she seemed even a little disapproving, he was sure.

She didn't make a sound, and she had gone very still at his side.

He pressed on, "I know this is--very sudden--by both our peoples' customs, but I..." Pahlan moved rather awkwardly about, to kneel in front of her on the blanket, fumbling for the little box. "Setie, I'd be honored if you would be my fiancée," he finished at last, in a rush. "And my wife, in three years, if the world lasts." He opened the lid.

"Oh, Pahlan," Setie breathed. "Oh, I'm--you--oh, yes, of course I'll marry you." She lifted the gift carefully from his hand.

Pahlan looked up at last, taking what felt like the first breath in five minutes or so. Setie's blue eyes were filled with tears, but she was smiling, smiling, and he felt his own smile widen until he could have burst just for the joy that bubbled over inside him, joy he'd kept locked away until Setie had freed it. Setie loved him, Setie wanted to marry him, and the world would not end because if this was possible any good thing was possible.

He had nearly forgotten the open wooden box she now held, but Setie looked within it and asked, "Is that customary between Winglies? It's beautiful."

"Sort of," he answered. "The custom is to give a pledge-gift, but in the last few centuries it's more often been ribbons and weapons than jewelry. This is a tradition in my family, though. Do you like it?"

"I love it, Pahlan." She lifted the necklace gently from its velvety bed, turning the pendant to catch the light. It was a deep blue, very nearly matching her eyes, and it glittered with an internal light as well as throwing back the sun's reflection. The chain was delicate silver, with an intricate clasp that lay unfastened. It wasn't large enough to be gaudy, nor were there sharp edges anywhere on it. "I'll wear it always. Help me put it on?"

He got to his feet and took it from her, rubbing a finger over the jewel. "First, you should know that it's been passed down in my family for--well, since before the Dragon Campaign. It's always belonged to the wife of the eldest Bardel, when there was one, though Tiala wore it for a while, after our mother died and when it didn't seem like I'd be getting married."

"So it's an heirloom?" she asked, a new respect in her voice.

Pahlan nodded. "My father used to say that it protected the Bardel line. Sacan and I always wished Tiala had taken it with her," he added, softly. "She was more important to us than the possibility of losing the amulet."

Setie laid a gentle hand on his arm, and said nothing.

There was a definite comfort in that touch, Pahlan thought. He shook away the regrets and continued, "It's certainly magical. Though I can't tell for sure everything it does, one thing is that it doesn't come off easily. I'm sure it won't hurt you, but I wanted you to know before you put it on." It would also identify her very clearly as being under his protection--just in case anyone else from the Forest had inclinations in Prado's direction.

His newly pledged fiancée smiled up at him. "It just makes it even more special to me, Pahlan. Go ahead."

The clasp was magical, not physical, which Pahlan considered to be a good thing, what with the way his hands were shaking as he reached behind Setie's head holding the chain. The release was a considerably more detailed spell, though not one that took much more magical power, a family secret of sorts. He still regretted teaching it to Tiala. A delicate touch of magic, and the necklace had latched around Setie's neck with an audible click. "There," he told Setie.

She put a hand over the pendant, with a faint expression of surprise. "It's warm," she murmured, blinking. "It feels...gentle. Friendly, even--like it's missed being worn. How strange."

"Tiala said the same thing," Pahlan remembered. "I wish I knew why it was, but I don't."

"Maybe the Ularans would be able to tell you more about it," Setie offered thoughtfully. "If it came from before the Dragon Campaign, they should know what things like it were for exactly."

Pahlan grinned. "That would be the obvious way to find out, wouldn't it? Why do I always miss things like that?"

"Well, don't worry," Setie said sweetly, patting his arm, "you've got me to point them out now."

"And I've never been happier about anything in my life," he whispered in her ear, and enjoyed watching a pink blush color her cheeks.

Setie peered out at the position of the sun. "We'd better be getting back," she sighed, with noticeable regret. "There's still so much that has to get done."

"Right," Pahlan agreed. It was a pity their time was up, but to be honest he was looking forward to the trip, at least. He picked up the basket, which was not noticeably lighter--the cooks had seriously overestimated how much food was really necessary for two people. Another levitation spell took care of that, and he put his other arm around Setie. His fiancée still weighed almost nothing, and with a little more effort, he would have been able to float her beside him without need for actual contact. He had no wish to do so, however. He could have said it was because he didn't want to her be frightened, but it was really because he very much wanted to have her close to him.

The biting wind didn't bother him at all as they floated slowly away from the cliffs. There was something he hadn't said, he remembered. Niama had always been outspoken with her romantic advice, and as little as he'd paid attention, some of it might be worth following. The words felt awkward, trite, but Setie had the right to hear them as many times as she wanted to.

"I love you, Setie," Pahlan murmured to her.

Her eyes were no longer for the sparkling city below, but for him, and the depth of love in them took his breath away even before she answered.

* * *

Restlessly, Niama bounced on her toes as though ready to spring into flight, all her attention on Veria. "Has he asked yet?" she demanded in a half-whisper. 

The other Wingly girl sat by the room's window, her eyes closed, and responded only with a minuscule shake of the head to indicate a negative response. Niama made a face and shifted the bounce into more of a hop, debating whether or not to actually light her wings. Hopeful anticipation pooled in her feet and made her completely incapable of holding still, but it didn't actually increase the magic she had on hand, even if she felt as though she were about to burst.

Kedim would lecture her if she wasted magic. And it might distract Veria. Niama let out a gusty sigh, folded her arms, and sat down, using considerable self-control to confine herself to a swift foot-tapping.

Seated rather more patiently across the room, Kedim grinned as though he recognized what she was thinking. He usually did.

"Why are we whispering?" the sole Human in the room, Veria's young architect friend Peter, inquired curiously. "It's not as though Mr. Bardel can hear us, can he?" The young Human had been eating lunch with Veria and discussing something incomprehensible when Niama had come in, Kedim in tow, to encourage Veria to listen for Bardel's emotions.

It had taken quite a lot of encouragement, too. Veria had absorbed all Niama's eloquence for a full fifteen minutes before reluctantly agreeing to selectively lower her own shields a bit, and had stubbornly refused to go looking for Pahlan Bardel's thoughts. Niama shook off all these memories, and explained to Peter, "I don't want to break Veria's concentration, is all."

"No fear of that," Veria said wryly, opening her eyes. "I didn't expect to feel anything, but Bardel's making himself shockingly hard to miss. He's usually got a powerful natural shield, for all that he's never trained, but now--" Her eyes flickered out the window toward the distant cliffs, and she winced. "I've certainly never heard Bardel broadcast this loud."

This didn't especially matter to Niama, except insofar as it meant she could hear what was going on. "Has he asked yet?" she persisted.

"I think he's about to," Veria replied, blinking at the blue sky. "He--" She stopped abruptly, an odd smile creeping over her face, from emotions not entirely her own. "That was a yes," she reported. "Definitely a yes. I've never felt _anyone_ quite this overjoyed." Veria tilted her head and shook it, as though to clear out the residue.

Niama let out a whoop, jumping to her feet, and tugged Kedim into an impromptu dance. "I knew it!" she shouted. "I knew it, I knew it!"

"Hush a moment, will you?" Veria requested crossly. "I've got to get my shields up and you're giving me a headache."

Considerately, Niama waited almost a full minute to demand, "Where are they now? I've got to congratulate them!"

"Now don't you tell Bardel I told you," Veria said in sudden dismay.

"Don't worry," Niama assured her airily, "they're sure to be obvious about it. And I want to see what Bardel gave for a pledge-gift."

Veria frowned at her. "Well, if that's not obvious, nothing is. The Bardels always use their pendant. Don't you remember how Tiala used to tease them about when they'd be taking it away from her?"

Niama hadn't considered Bardel likely to give _that_ to a Human, but didn't want to say so. And now that she thought about it, why shouldn't he? It was something of an odd mix, traditional gift to distinctly untraditional fiancée, but maybe it fit Pahlan to do things that way. "I remember now," she agreed, opting not to argue. "Where are they?"

"Go and look," Veria suggested. She had apparently decided the situation called for amused exasperation, a tone with which Niama had long been familiar.

"If you find Mr. Bardel, maybe you can help make sure he doesn't go to the inn," Peter put in, with a wry smile. "My dad says the soldiers aren't looking forward to when he finds out."

Niama paused halfway to the door. "Finds what out?" she asked cautiously. It was a rare bit of gossip she didn't know, but this sounded new.

The Human man cast a startled glance at Veria. "You haven't heard?" he asked.

All three Winglies shook their heads.

Peter raised his eyebrows in surprise, and leaned forward conspiratorially. "My father has some friends in the Knighthood, you know, and several of them are on a special guard detail at the inn. Everyone knows there've been some long-range scout patrols--well, one of them, a Ularan girl, apparently got right up near the Moon. She made it back not too long ago, and she brought someone with her, badly injured. Not one of the Dragoons; a Wingly man."

Niama caught her breath with an audible gasp. "You can't mean the one who--"

The architect nodded, a memory of anger flickering over his face. "Several of the knights have positively identified him. It's Lloyd, same one who kidnapped Queen Theresa. Wink hasn't been told, of course."

"Of course," Niama breathed uneasily. Bardel was doing so well, but she wasn't at all sure how he would handle a confrontation with the man who'd killed his brother. "Thanks, Peter. Definitely, definitely we need to keep Bardel away from the inn."

* * *

At first it had been a relief to have some halfway useful task to do, but after several hours of staring at essentially identical reports from the scouts, Guaraha felt almost ready to toss the whole lot into the fireplace. The Virages were slowly approaching, the poison approached with them, and no amount of following their progress was actually _helping_. 

With a frustrated sigh, he shoved his chair away from the laden desk. He was all too aware that it was Vielan's return that had made him uncharacteristically impatient, those maddening few words Charle had given him in a rush, reawakening hope and terror to twist together in his aching heart.

_The Dragoons are still alive. Lloyd may know more._

He appreciated the Wingly leader taking the time to inform him, when anyone could see the situation was eating at her just as much as at him, but he really thought this waiting would drive him mad if it went on much longer. How long did the idiot Wingly really need to recover?

He couldn't even go and complain to his friends about it. Everyone had agreed that Pahlan ought not to learn of Lloyd's presence just yet, which meant that telling any of the Forest Winglies was also unwise. Niama was good at getting secrets out of her friends, and Niama often couldn't keep a secret longer than the space of a conversation.

Guaraha briefly entertained the thought of marching down to the inn and demanding answers, before regretfully dismissing it as counterproductive. As soon as there was news, Charle would bring it to him.

Until then, he was stuck staring at scout patterns, on which he'd made no progress at all since the news of Vielan's return. He nudged idly at the papers, all covered with Wingly script and none even slightly interesting at the moment.

The faint hum of a teleport brought him to his feet well before the door opened, and Charle Frahma looked at him from the hallway. "There is news," she said quietly, with enough of a reassuring smile that he didn't panic. "Lloyd woke. Miata and I must speak with you."

He followed her hurriedly into the house's smaller sitting room, used for more private meetings. Miata was waiting there, seated in one of the armchairs, and she smiled in greeting as they entered. Guaraha took the other armchair, leaving the facing couch for Charle. "What did Lloyd say about the Dragoons?" he asked anxiously.

Charle gave a brief description of the battle with the stolen Dragoon Spirit, as observed by the rescued Wingly. Guaraha listened with care, hoping desperately to find some room for hope in the recital of facts. Meru had been alive, only a few short hours ago, but how high were the chances that she could win? Win, and survive the battle that could end the world?

"Lloyd then witnessed something like a cloud withdraw from Zieg," Charle reported, her voice flat. Miata reached across the low table to offer a hand in comfort, but Charle didn't acknowledge it as it rested on her sleeve. "This being, or influence, claimed--" Her voice faltered, stilled.

"Claimed to be Melbu Frahma," Miata supplied. Her tones ranged from soft compassion for Charle to soul-deep hatred of the former Emperor, all within the space of a syllable.

"That's impossible," Guaraha denied automatically, head whirling.

Charle shook her head. "There is, unfortunately, a high likelihood of its truth," she corrected. A deep, cleansing breath, and she continued. "The being who had controlled Zieg then replaced Shana as part of the Moon, and was apparently successful at doing so. Lloyd attacked and was swiftly defeated. He left weapons with the Dragoons--potentially formidable ones--and attempted to teleport away, badly injured and almost unconscious. It was in such a state that Vielan found him."

Guaraha stared at the wall opposite until it blurred in his sight, wisely saying nothing while he worked at the impossibilities of this account. One thing was sure, it didn't make him feel any better about Meru's chances. Hadn't most of the _old_ Dragoons died fighting Melbu Frahma?

"It may be that this is good news for our cause," Charle murmured, at last. "If...something of a shock. My--my brother--if he has replaced the Moon Child as he seems to have done, the Moon will not be truly awake, it will not have its full power to set against our friends."

Guaraha nodded slow acceptance, feeling marginally better. It did make sense--though, looking at Charle, he wasn't sure that she believed it herself. The smooth lines of her skirt were quickly developing creases where her hands gripped the fabric, and her eyes had the fixed cast of one who cannot look away from the past.

"Well, the important thing for now is still preparing to defend here," Miata said, with a faltering attempt at briskness. "We can't help the Dragoons."

"I have lost too much to my brother already," Charle said, in a voice like a winter sky, and Guaraha was quite certain she hadn't meant to say it aloud.

Turning his attention to Miata in a general feeling of discomfort at seeing Charle Frahma in such a vulnerable state, he cleared his throat. "I know the Palace is our strongest position, but surely we could send at least a few people to help. Especially if Wingly magic is part of what the Dragoons are facing."

But Miata was staring, face draining white, at Charle, and the Wingly leader let out a choked gasp. Frowning, Guaraha looked over to Charle. The sight brought him out of his chair at once in concern and fear.

The Wingly leader was pale as glacial ice, collapsed into the embroidered couch as though she had no power to move. Both hands clenched over her heart, as though it had just been torn from her. The wave of despair that rolled from her was nearly overpowering, even to Guaraha, who had spent about as much time developing telepathic skills as Meru had spent studying ancient languages.

There were no tears in Charle's eyes, but the pain in them cut Guaraha to his own heart, pain and guilt and utter hopelessness, all trapped in eyes that stood out like blood against snow--"What's happened?" he gasped, terrified that he knew the answer.

Miata was already kneeling beside the ancient Wingly, the same fear in every line of her as Guaraha looked on helplessly. Something passed between the two women, without words or sound; silently, Miata crumpled into a heap, her face buried in her hands, shaking with unvoiced sobs.

"What's happened?" Guaraha demanded again, and the words hung frozen in the icy despair that choked the room.

Charle Frahma met his frightened gaze with a look of sorrow and loss incomprehensibly deep, and he did not want her to say the words he already knew were inescapable. "Rose...is dead," she pronounced, slowly, as though the dreadful syllables refused to follow one another too closely.

"Are you sure?" The words sprang to Guaraha's lips in thoughtless denial, and he regretted them instantly. There was no way to call them back, they hung in the room with the rest.

The silence was not soft, but sharp and hard as ice. Charle's voice, when it came, fell like snow and only deepened the stillness. "I held her life within my heart for eleven thousand years," she murmured. "I should never have doubted that I would feel its loss. I am sure, Guaraha. She is...gone."

Ice crept back and wrapped itself about Guaraha, leaving him numb and cold. Unwillingly his eyes turned to the lone window in the room, which faced the direction the Moon had fallen. The sky was pale and misty to the distant horizon. What was happening, so far away?

"Miata," Charle said to the Wingly weeping beside her, in tones eerily like silence. "There are things I must tell you."

An understanding deeper than certainty seized Guaraha and shook him loose from the icy paralysis. Quicker than thought, he scrambled to his feet and out the door.

No one tried to stop a Wingly obviously on some urgent mission, and his wings carried him above the heads of the Humans in the street. Some two minutes later, at the entrance of the inn, it occurred to him that leaving without a word had been extremely rude. Well, if he hurried he could ask pardon for it.

The Human innkeeper hardly looked up as Guaraha dashed through the lobby--he'd grown quite used to all the traffic in and out of the inn ever since the clinic had reopened on the second floor. Two Sacred Knights just within the door nodded in salute, but didn't give formal bows; both looked weary and bored after an uneventful watch. Guaraha felt the pressure of time too keenly to acknowledge them with more than a quick jerk of the head.

Only two Winglies were staying at the inn: the young man who'd caused so much trouble, and Vielan, who had reluctantly accepted the task of guarding him. Lloyd was apparently asleep, but the young Ularan woman frowned at him as he entered. "Hello, Guaraha," she greeted quizzically. "What's wrong?"

He couldn't say it. There were no words. He could not tell Vielan, so devoted to Rose, that the Dragoon was gone. "Potions," he muttered instead, "I need potions," and rushed by her toward the wooden stairway.

One of the Human knights had ducked outside, alerted by some commotion in the streets. He slammed the door open again, eyes wide in fear. "There's a cloud of smoke where the Moon fell! What's happening out there? Is Sister Miranda all right?"

"I don't know," Guaraha could only say, "I've got to get out there."

Vielan leaped from her bed as though she were of a mind to teleport herself there at once. Emotion battled visibly over her face. "The new cures are in that box on top," she informed Guaraha.

With a nod of thanks, Guaraha opened the indicated box, one of a pile just beside the steps. The vials within smelled strongly of magic, the result of Wingly aid and Charle's long consultations with the Human potion-makers and clinicians. It was a good thing Humans made them so hard to break, Guaraha thought absently as he stuffed as many as he could carry into the pockets of his tunic.

A long sigh hissed from Vielan as he finished that task, and she stepped toward him holding out a coat of mail and a helmet. "If you're going, wear my armor," she said--it sounded more like a command than an offer, but the pain on her face suggested she might have preferred to cut off her own hand. She shoved the valuable items into his arms, then bent to pick up her greaves, light armor for the legs spelled to help the wearer avoid attack. "And hurry up."

Awkward from lack of experience, Guaraha sat down on an empty bed and settled the helm and armor over his clothes, feeling uncommonly silly. Both were lighter than they looked, easy to wear, with powerful magic reinforcing the effects; the best armor available, all the more so because anyone could wear it.

Vielan efficiently buckled the greaves she'd worn onto Guaraha's lower legs, where they fit perfectly; something in their magic, no doubt. "Show me where Charle is," Vielan demanded. "You'll never make it through the streets now. Too many people."

"Thank you," Guaraha said, knowing it was utterly inadequate but without time to say anything more--he knew how much the headstrong girl would have preferred to go herself.

She grimaced, straightening and tugging him to his feet. "Whatever you do, don't fool yourself into thinking you can actually fight!"

Guaraha concentrated on the image of the room he had left such a short time before. Vielan gripped his shoulder, and the inn vanished in a flare of white light.

Vielan did not stay with him for more than a split-second after delivering him safely to the room, disappearing immediately into the white light of teleportation. Guaraha knew she had to return to her post or risk considerable scoldings. For all that Lloyd seemed to be no threat, no one was willing to risk leaving him unguarded.

What concerned him considerably more than Vielan's abrupt departure was the fact that Charle Frahma was nowhere to be seen. Panic flooded him for what seemed an eternity--was he too late?

"If you have any questions, go to Miata," Charle's voice directed from behind him, clipped and decisive. "She's with the Queen now."

Guaraha turned around, relief tempered with anxiety. The pain and sorrow in Charle's eyes were sealed behind a wall of resolve now, steady and uncompromising as she pinned him with a gaze. "I know you're leaving," he blurted. "I'm coming with you."

Charle raised an eyebrow. "It's taken me enough trouble to send Miata away, and now you've come back to argue with me, too," she muttered. "You're nearly as perceptive as she is. What good do you think you can do, child?"

For answer, Guaraha held out one of the potions he'd stocked up on. "If you're fighting, and they need help, you won't have time to heal them. I can do that. I'm wearing armor, I'll stay out of the way--let me come," he pleaded. "I--I can't stay behind again. Not again. I have to know what's happened to Meru."

It seemed an endless moment that she only stood and looked at him, ancient eyes fathomless. "I have caused too many deaths already," she said softly. "I don't want yours on my conscience, child."

"There's a better chance of saving the Dragoons if I come," Guaraha insisted stubbornly. "And there's no time to waste arguing."

At last Charle broke eye contact, leaving Guaraha with a faintly breathless feeling, as though a silent interrogation much longer than the few verbal questions had been completed. He didn't doubt the powerful Wingly was capable of having done so. "Come, then," she acquiesced quietly, extending an arm.

Guaraha scrambled across the room, unwilling to give the Wingly leader a chance to change her mind, vials clinking in his pockets. Her arm wrapped firmly about his shoulders. "Hold on," she advised, "I'm taking it in one jump."

Eyes tightly shut, Guaraha nevertheless felt the world blur about him. The sense lasted far longer than any of the near-instantaneous teleports he'd gone along with before, until he began to worry that something was wrong--but Charle's grip on his shoulder hadn't altered. She knew what she was doing, he assured himself.

Running underneath all his thoughts was the plaintive cry, _Meru, please be okay, please, please..._

And then there was the sudden jolt of earth under his feet, and dust and fire in the air, and Guaraha forced his watering eyes open. If Meru was alive, he would find her, and never leave her side again.

If not, he could think of no way he would rather spend his last moments than fighting the thing that had killed her, and if Charle didn't want help that was just too bad.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

_Yes, Lloyd's alive, but he won't be in this story much except as his presence relates to Pahlan. I like Lloyd, but this fic's long enough already, and I've cut about ten pages from this part that were all about him. They'll probably make their way into a fic of their own, but not till this one is finished._

_Just one part left--honestly this time. And maybe an epilogue. This fic is way longer than I'd planned..._

_Sorry about the cliffhanger, but it isn't as though you all don't already know what's happening with the Dragoons._


	6. And All Times Pass

Part Six: And All Times Pass

_Time is cold without you:  
I watched the snowfall freeze my heart  
and shadows grew deep. _

_Time is long without you:  
I am a season older every day,  
and one year or a thousand are alike. _

_Your laughter is the spring wind:  
behold, all my winters shall wake to you  
and all times pass. _

_--Guaraha, a Wingly of the Moonfall era; copies preserved in the Wingly Forest and in Deningrad_

The joy that trembled in Pahlan's heart kept leaping up into an involuntary smile, which was enough out of character that several people had cautiously asked if there had been any news. The reminder that the world was expected to end shortly had only sobered him briefly.

He'd scarcely seen Setie since they had parted at the palace, both their duties keeping them fully occupied. Setie and the other Sacred Sisters had their hands more than full dealing with the people of Deningrad, while Pahlan was part of a rotating schedule to imbue various weapons and healing potions with magic, making them more effective than the Humans could manage alone--this in between his tasks fine-tuning spells, along with several Ularans and Rienna's husband Lanar.

Just now, he was hurrying from the Crystal Palace, toward the house near the clinic where Lanar had set up shop. He would have preferred to teleport, but magic was at even more of a premium than time, and it wasn't far.

"Bardel, there you are!" a familiar voice called eagerly. With a sense of inevitability he usually reserved for avalanches and other unstoppable natural disasters, Pahlan turned to face Niama. "I've been looking for you for ages," the girl continued.

Pahlan wondered if it was the search that had left her sounding breathless, or the effort of holding in whatever it was she wanted to say. "Do you need something?" he inquired, in a tone as discouraging and busy as he could possibly make it.

Niama predictably ignored such subtle hints. "I expected you to be with Setie--you're going to marry her, aren't you?"

Utterly tactless, Pahlan thought irritably. He had no intention of denying it, but the way she had asked would have made him want to if anything possibly could. "Only if the world lasts through our engagement," he snapped, "so if you don't mind I'm in a hurry at the moment. Don't you have anything useful to do?"

Worry leapt unmistakably into her face. "You aren't going to--" she began, stopped short, visibly cleared her expression to an excellent facade of innocence, and started over in a tone that matched, "Where are you going?"

Pahlan frowned, suspicious. "Is there somewhere you don't want me to go, Niama?" What was the girl up to? That hadn't looked like her usual preoccupation with gossip. He watched her face carefully for signs of guilt.

The pulsing hum of a Wingly in flight distracted him. He looked up curiously, and was startled to see that it was Guaraha, speeding away from the palace. He caught enough of a glimpse of his friend's grim expression to be sure something was wrong, more wrong than before.

Abandoning the question of Niama's odd behavior, Pahlan lit his own wings and went in pursuit of Guaraha. He wouldn't risk calling out and slowing the other Wingly down, but whatever the task was, Guaraha might need help. Pahlan tried not to think what might have gone wrong.

Guaraha had a considerable lead on Pahlan, but he didn't travel far, wings flickering out as he disappeared inside the inn and clinic. Pahlan hesitated as he landed on the doorstep--he hadn't expected this destination, and wondered at it.

"Bardel, wait!" A frantic hand clutched at his elbow. "Don't go in there," Niama pleaded, "you can't, you really mustn't, they'll be furious with me!"

"Furious with _you_?" Pahlan repeated, raising his eyebrows.

Niama nodded, wide-eyed. "Whenever anyone knows anything they aren't supposed to know, I'm the first one everyone blames!"

Pahlan managed to hide his chuckle with a soft cough, looking away. There were very good reasons Niama was the first suspect in those situations, and she knew it as well as he did. But none of this was at all helpful in finding out what was wrong.

A small group of Humans had collected in the street, pausing to watch the disagreement with uncertain glances. One of them gasped suddenly, and Pahlan turned to find the child pointing at the sky, one hand over her mouth in horror and her blue cap fallen unnoticed to the stones. Her hand waveringly indicated the direction all their fears were focused, the place where the Moon had set.

In the distance there, a glowing fire reached for the sky atop a dark column of smoke.

This, Pahlan was abruptly certain, was why Guaraha had been in such a hurry--his friend had known somehow even before the light reached Deningrad--and telepathy was the only explanation for that, and if it was strong enough to reach over such distance Pahlan dreaded learning what news it might have brought.

The other Humans picked up the alarm, with cries of fear and a sudden surge toward the two Winglies for a reassurance Pahlan couldn't give. The door of the inn swung open, and a Human knight peered out for a brief instant before slamming it shut again.

"I don't know what's happening," Pahlan said in frustration to the fifth Human who'd asked the question. "Please--let me go and find out--excuse me--thank you--" Teleportation was the only way to get out of this crowd, but even that was difficult when people insisted on clinging to his arms. For a split second, no one was touching him. Pahlan focused on the interior of the inn, and threw his magic into going there.

Guaraha was nowhere to be seen, and an unfamiliar Wingly man lying asleep was the room's only other occupant. The glow of Pahlan's own teleport had scarcely faded when he sensed another, however, and stepped quickly backward, out of the way. White light flared and faded, leaving a Ularan woman where it had been. Pahlan searched his memory for her name, but couldn't find it. "Where did Guaraha go?" he asked her, dispensing with pleasantries--there was no time anyway.

The Ularan Wingly turned, her eyebrows up in surprise, whether at Pahlan's presence or his question was impossible to tell. "I took him to the Crystal Palace, since he was in a hurry to catch Charle," she replied, after a moment. "If he managed to convince her to bring him along, he may be to the Moon by now."

The Moon. Shock gripped Pahlan for a long moment, fading with tired realization--of course Guaraha would want to go to Meru if there was any possible way he could, of course nothing else would matter to him but saving her. And if anyone could persuade the Lady Charle Frahma, Pahlan would lay bets on Guaraha managing it.

The Wingly woman was watching him with a frown. "Your hair makes you look like an onion," she commented tactlessly. "Aren't you the one they said wasn't supposed to be in here?"

Pahlan felt his eyebrows go up. What was this, anyway, some kind of conspiracy? "Niama kept saying so, but I don't know why." He sent a sharp gaze flickering over the room for some clue.

The Wingly clapped her hands to her mouth and began to giggle, which Pahlan found highly irritating. "Well, if I can't go with Charle, at least I can get some amusement out of this," she said with slightly forced brightness, silent laughter still twitching about her lips.

"Out of _what_?" Pahlan demanded. He couldn't find anything at all in the hotel that would justify this kind of effort to keep him away...

The injured Wingly man had woken, crimson eyes blinking wearily in a pale, drawn face, Pahlan noted--poison and loss of blood, no doubt, as was no longer uncommon among the Wingly scouts. Eyes dim from pain locked onto Pahlan, and he shifted uncomfortably under the sudden scrutiny. Who was this?

"You look...just like him," the Wingly murmured, in a voice rough with long sleep. "Have you come to kill me?"

Knowledge struck Pahlan with a force that might have been mistaken for the falling Moon. His gaze moved involuntarily to Vielan, and all the confirmation he needed was in the curiosity she made no effort to hide. It was suddenly difficult to breathe, and Pahlan remembered fresh the despair of his brother's death, that day in the probation room, and looking back at the Wingly in the bed he knew who he saw.

He scarcely recognized his own voice; it seemed to well up from some dark place that Guaraha's friendship and even Setie's love had not reached, a voice that still echoed with long habits of death and hatred and revenge. "You killed my brother," he said, and felt his fists clench. "He was the last of my family...and you killed him."

The injured Wingly was saying something to Vielan, voice weak as dry autumn leaves, a half coherent apology, not for what he'd done to Sacan, not pleading for his life, but an apology to the Human he'd hurt.

Drowning him out, the sound in Pahlan's ears was the sound of Sacan's rage, the last words he had ever heard his brother say, the violent call for vengeance, for annihilation--rage, and scorn, for an elder brother too weak to avenge the death of a beloved sibling.

Pahlan felt his fingernails dig into his palms, hands that tingled with scarcely controlled magic, the spell that would end the life of the murderer, as Sacan would want--

_"Wink jumped in front of Lloyd. Saved his life,"_ the memory of Setie's light voice broke into Pahlan's darkness, scattering his murderous intentions like dry pine needles in a high wind. Sacan might have wanted revenge, but Pahlan had chosen a different path from his brother. His new fiancée would be not at all pleased with him if he killed the Wingly of whom her sister thought so highly.

"As amusing as all this is," Vielan's sardonic voice cut into Pahlan's thoughts, "I'm not completely heartless." She gestured at Lloyd. "_Say_ something, for pity's sake, Bardel. Can't you see he thinks you're going to kill him?"

Pahlan drew a cleansing breath, sweet with the remembered scent of Setie's golden hair, and let his magic dissipate unused. "I wanted to," he told the girl shortly--she was far too sure of herself. He let his gaze rest on the semi-conscious man, and his voice moderated itself without thought. As defenseless as Wink had been to Sacan. "For a moment. But you have nothing to fear from me, Lloyd."

Vielan grinned smugly at him. "There," she said happily, "that's all taken care of, then, I'll be sure to let the soldiers know they don't have to keep you out. Now." Pahlan could see the weight of the situation press down on her again, fear and tension. "Bardel, can you take the message to Wink?" she requested, more softly than anything she'd yet said to him. "Bring her here, if you can? I don't know how--how much time we--"

Her voice failed, hands coming up to hide her face and the tears that Pahlan knew were there. He shifted uncomfortably. "Will she come, do you think? I don't think she knows he's here."

The question successfully snapped the fiery Wingly out of her despair, irritation drying her tears. "All the more reason to tell her," Vielan scolded him. "She jumped in front of Dart's sword; I'd say that's fair evidence she's moderately fond of this idiot. If the world's going to end, I want to see all these loose ends tied up first."

Pahlan worked on hiding a grin, and offered her a shrug. "If it's that important to you. I daresay my fiancée would want me to be sure her sister got a chance to talk with Lloyd, anyhow."

Vielan made a small, startled noise, something between a squeak and a gasp. "You asked Sister Setie? And she said yes?" she asked delightedly.

"She did," he confirmed, and felt the joy of the simple words lift his spirits all over again. "I'll, ah, be right back," he added, and focused on the room where he knew Wink still lay recovering.

"Congratulations!" he heard Vielan's yelp follow him through the white blur of teleportation, and not even worry for Guaraha and the thought of the world's end could have prevented his smile.

* * *

The air was heavy with dust and smoke. Their footing was unstable, tremors rippling through the ground, and Guaraha lit his wings without waiting for a command from Charle. The aftershock of the explosion had not yet reached Deningrad, but here the earth still protested the violence done to it.

Blinking away the grit in his eyes, Guaraha squinted upward. The sun was low on the horizon and shrouded in gloom, but a fiery light shone overhead, destruction burning itself out at the top of a column of smoke and debris. The explosion must have been inconceivably powerful, he thought, and tried very hard not to think of the likelihood of surviving such a thing.

"We have to get above this," Charle called, over the deep rumble of the earth. "I can't see anything from here, come on--"

Guaraha focused on the glow of her wings through the dust and followed, nearly blind. He threw his limited senses outward, desperately hoping for a glimmer of Meru's presence.

They broke from the cloud of dust into open air, the glare of the roiling fire above all the brighter unshielded. "Over there!" Charle called.

He peered in the direction she indicated, upward and farther from the column of smoke. Five shapes, glinting in the distance, hovering on dragon wings, small and still as they watched the remains of their long fight. Five shapes. Five.

And none of them small and blue.

With a speed Guaraha had never known he possessed, he threw himself towards them, his heart pounding in his throat, his mouth too dry for the words that lay bitter on his tongue--had they _left_ her there? How _could_ they?

He counted again, desperately, as he drew closer, identifying each by general shape and color at this distance and in the smoke-dimmed air, searching for Meru's distinctive figure, and could not find it. The enormous Giganto, axe at his side. The Human king, with his spear. Violet glints from the older Human. Sister Miranda's golden hair. Something with even bulkier armor than the Giganto, gray and imposing, a Dragoon power he didn't recognize and dismissed. But Meru's warhammer and platinum hair, Meru's sapphire armor--

The Giganto turned slightly, and platinum hair gleamed beside him. Guaraha felt the icy grip of despair shatter and fall away, and he drew a breath for what seemed the first time since Meru had left his sight. "Meru!" he cried.

He had no eyes for the rest of the Dragoons, or anything else but his long-separated fiancée. There seemed no time at all between that first glimpse and the moment when he reached out to touch her, as though he had spontaneously picked up the art of teleportation. His hands closed on her delicate shoulders without conscious thought of whether he had the right to do it or not after their estrangement, half afraid she would vanish again. "Oh, Meru," he laughed, and tears choked his voice, "you're alive, you're--I thought--I was so--"

Her crimson eyes met him, shadowed by grief and long struggle but unchanged in forthright courage, and there was shock in their depths. "Guaraha?" she whispered. An incredulous smile fought its way slowly across her face. "Guaraha, what are you _doing_ here? You said--the commandment--"

There were undoubtedly a great many explanations that needed to be made, but Guaraha found that he had patience for none of them. "I love you," he said fervently, "I was wrong before, you were right, I don't know if you can ever forgive me--"

Her arms locked about his neck, and there was no more space for words, because Meru's lips were pressed soft and warm against his, and Guaraha gladly let go of all his doubts.

The sound of the potions he carried clinking against her Dragoon armor recalled Guaraha to the situation, and he drew back, examining Meru again for any sign of injury. "You're all right? You're not hurt?"

She didn't answer, looking down as though not entirely certain herself. A pale blue light flickered about her for a moment, and when it faded the armor was gone with it, leaving Meru in the blue and orange frills she'd taken to wearing. Her own wings flared on just in time to take over for the power of the Dragoon Spirit, and Guaraha noted with concern that the effort drew lines of strain in her face. "I'm mostly okay," she replied at last.

He was already digging out a potion. "Drink this," he ordered, concerned. He could see, now, the tracks of drying blood where she'd been wounded and magically healed, and they were far too numerous. Meru didn't protest, gulping down the vial in two swallows.

"If it's all the same to you," an irritated voice broke in abruptly, "since the rest of us don't have wings of our own, we'd better be landing now, and then you can explain what brings you out here."

Guaraha tore his eyes away from Meru and made as much of a bow as was practical in midair to the blonde archer. "Of course, Sister Miranda. I'm glad to see you are well--Queen Theresa and your sisters have been very worried."

The First Sacred Sister frowned at him. "You've been to Deningrad?" she asked suspiciously.

"Explanations_after_ we're on the ground, Miranda, I'm too tired to wait up here anymore," the Violet Dragoon cut in, with an amused grin in Guaraha's direction. The elderly Human began descending in a tight spiral without waiting for acknowledgment. The other Dragoons followed suit, slow with fatigue--and grief, Guaraha knew, for Charle's telepathy was confirmed by the absence of the Darkness Dragoon.

But Meru looked less pale than before, and some of the spark had returned to her eyes. Guaraha rejoiced in that, and put off thinking of the rest.

Meru slipped her hand into his as they descended slowly. "I've lost my hammer," she complained. "It was such a _nice_ hammer, I've never had a better one."

Daringly, Guaraha reached over and tweaked the blue ribbon in her hair. "You've kept this, though," he murmured.

She responded with a gentle tug on his own bright red headband. "So have you."

Guaraha swallowed. "We've been engaged long enough, Meru...and I've waited for you until I thought I would die of the not knowing. Will you marry me?"

But she flinched at the words, and pulled away, not meeting his eyes--Guaraha felt his heart lurch with the old suspicion, that it hadn't been the Forest she wanted to leave, but him, that some Human held more of her heart than she was willing to say...

She was biting her lip as she looked up at him again, and her voice was uncharacteristically soft, almost drowned in the combined hum of their wings. "What you said before, Guaraha...maybe I was right about going out of the Forest, but you were right, too. I _have_ changed. And just looking at you, I can see you've changed just as much. Are you sure I'm still--we still--that things can work out between us, after so many years?"

Guaraha let out his breath, an involuntary sigh of relief. It wasn't quite the answer he'd hoped for, but neither was it as he had feared. Meru had grown up a little, and no wonder, after all she'd been through; but that was no bad thing. "It's probably true that we'll need to get to know one another again," he answered carefully, "and it may be difficult. We've changed, and we've been apart a long time. But however much you've changed, I can still see the Meru I fell in love with--and I hope you can still love me. If that's so, then we can make it through anything." He ventured a tentative smile. "It'd be hard to put a wedding together in less than a month or two, anyway. Your parents would never forgive me if I tried to elope with you."

Meru's familiar grin broke out in response like the sun through clouds, all the more beautiful for having been veiled. "Scared of my father, Guaraha?" she teased.

"Never," he denied, in kind, "it's your mother I'm worried about."

"Can't say I blame you." Laughter twitched about her lips, and faded. "I'm still your fiancée, Guaraha, if you'll have me. That's never changed." She touched one hand to her bright blue ribbon again, his pledge-gift to her those long years ago. "I just...couldn't stay, not when there was so much to see outside the Forest. I've missed you, but I was afraid to come back. I was afraid of being trapped."

He reached out to grip her hands, and promised, "From now on, I'll go wherever you go. You can show me everything you've found out here to love. And next time the world's in trouble, I'll be right by your side all the way."

"Well, let's hope _that_ doesn't happen for a few hundred years, anyhow," Meru murmured, and shadowed memory passed fleetingly over her face before she cleared her expression with a sigh and smiled at him. "But as for the wedding--next month sounds great."

Someone coughed politely, by way of getting attention. Guaraha looked down, too happy to feel as embarrassed as he might have otherwise, to find the untransformed Dragoons watching them from the ground some ten feet below. The green-caped Human tapped the shaft of his spear lightly, lifting an eyebrow at the two Winglies. "If you two are nearly done, perhaps you would consent to coming the remainder of the way down. I believe everyone is wondering how it is that a Forest Wingly happened to find us at such distance from your home."

"Sorry, Albert," Meru said at once, sounding genuinely penitent. "I know you're in a hurry to get back to Emille."

It surprised a faint smile from the fair-haired man. "I don't deny it. Do you mind?"

Meru laughed softly, as she and Guaraha landed and let their wings fade. "Of course not, how can I?"

"I'm wondering myself what's happened here," Guaraha said, glancing from the slender brown-haired Human girl, who had to be the former Moon-Child, to Dart, whose arm was wrapped around the girl's shoulders as though he never intended to move it. "But you heroes have the right to ask first--I assume the danger's over, anyway? The Moon's gone, that's clear enough." The mass of rubble had mostly settled now, still smoking, among the withered shells of Virages and a few brittle sticks of what had once been the Divine Tree; the earth below had ceased to tremble.

"The danger is over," Dart confirmed. "How did you get here?"

Guaraha guessed that the red-armored leader of the Dragoons must have been the one with the oddly bulky form, but set aside his questions for later. "I convinced Charle to bring me along," he answered. A sudden worry sank into him--there was no sign of Charle, he had wholly forgotten about her in his rush to find Meru. But the debris covered an enormous area and she was probably just out of sight.

Nevertheless, he scanned the nearby area again, guiltily. He'd been so overjoyed at seeing Meru that the ancient Wingly's grief at losing Rose has slipped his mind entirely.

"Charle Frahma?" Meru asked, in surprise. "How'd you meet her?"

It took Guaraha a moment to think back through what seemed like half of forever; so much had happened that it was difficult now to remember the time before the alliance with Deningrad. "The Ularans warned us of the Moon and strongly suggested we'd be wise to help one another out," he said at last, deciding a summary would have to be enough for the time being. "We and the Humans. We've been rebuilding the Crystal Palace, and fighting off the Virages together. There were quite a number of them when the Moon fell."

He noted a kind of collective wince from the Dragoons. "Saw those," Miranda said. "I was just hoping we would finish up before they did anything. Deningrad is safe?"

"They never got as far as the city," he assured the Sacred Sister. "And Charle helped us deal with that poison in the air, cured everyone who got sick."

Dart grimaced. "I didn't realize that would be an immediate threat. It hasn't affected us."

"Well, Charle said Dragoons would be immune," Guaraha offered. He couldn't help looking at the brown-haired former Moon Child, pale from her ordeal, and hoped the air was clean enough not to harm her. She leaned against Dart for support, worse off than the warriors, and she had no Dragoon Spirit.

Dart saw the look, and frowned, obviously following Guaraha's worry. "We should probably get away from here as quickly as possible," he decided. "Did you say Charle was here?"

Guaraha nodded. "When Rose--Charle felt her--" It was hard to get any kind of coherent explanation out, with the grief vivid in the eyes all around him for a woman he'd barely met. "We were afraid, if Rose was, then the rest of you might have--I kind of panicked," he admitted. "Charle was very kind to bring me, but I'm not sure she's thinking clearly herself. We had word it was her brother who...well...you know."

"She's gone to look for Rose?" Meru demanded, concern flaring in her crimson eyes. "Come on, Guaraha, we can't let her do that alone, she--Rose--" Her voice broke, and she shook her head wordlessly and leaped toward the crumbled Moon, wings humming with blue fire.

Guaraha moved to follow her, but remembered to add to Dart, "I'm sure Charle will be able to get all of you home, or arrange for it, at least. Here," and he shoved half a dozen or so vials of potion in the Dragoon's general direction before he took off.

His fiancée was hovering anxiously over the rubble by the time he caught up to her. There was no sign of the ancient Wingly. Guaraha touched Meru's hand gently. "Can you tell me what happened?" he asked, voice soft.

Meru sniffled, and blinked hard, eyes bright. "We thought we'd won half a dozen times, but the stupid thing wouldn't give up and _die_. Finally Rose and, and Zieg, they flew in alone, told the rest of us to get out, and the Moon was already collapsing, we didn't have a choice, I hoped we could get clear and come back for them, but Rose--I don't know what she did, Guaraha, but it worked. Only I--I don't think there's anything...left for Charle to find."

Wrapping an arm around her trembling shoulders, Guaraha scanned the remains of the Moon with eyes and his limited senses for any sign, physical or magical, of Charle Frahma. "We'll help her look, anyway." Charle had brought him to find Meru; he had to repay the favor. "You're right, she shouldn't be alone."

"There she is," Meru pointed suddenly. Guaraha squinted toward the distant spark--what was Charle doing? That glow was too bright to be just her wings, it was some kind of magic, only he couldn't feel anything... "Come on, Guaraha!" Meru called, as quicksilver as his memories of her, and sped forward leaving him to follow as he could.

The glow in front of Charle Frahma had faded before they were close enough to identify its cause, the figure of the Wingly woman very pale and small, a spark of color in the drifting dust of the Moon she had fought so long. Guaraha didn't know whether or not to be relieved that she didn't seem to have found...anything.

They landed a few steps behind her, and he looked at Meru for some hint on how to proceed, she knew this situation better than he in spite of the way he'd arrived here. But even Meru's dauntless spirit seemed dimmed by the waves of loss and guilt that escaped Charle Frahma's tight control. He was startled to feel Meru's hand seeking his for comfort, then pleased, with a deep warm glow beneath all the grief of the situation.

He stayed beside Meru as she approached Charle, and they stood together close enough that the ancient Wingly couldn't help but see them, and neither of them spoke. Guaraha knew that no words he could offer could do anything to soothe the pain he'd seen too clearly, and Meru, uncharacteristically silent, had to know it, too. It wasn't easy for her, though, the waiting, he could feel her fidgeting uneasily, one foot scuffing at the surface of the uneven ground.

But it was Charle who broke the hush, finally, so still she might have been Petrified, except that her hands clenched in the fabric of her dress trembled uncontrolled. "I'm pleased to find you and your friends well, Meru," Charle said, and how she managed the sincerity in the words Guaraha had no idea, given which friend they had not found well.

"I'm so sorry," Meru blurted out, as though a dam in the air had broken with Charle's voice, "Lady Charle, I couldn't find any way to save her--them--I would have, I wanted to, I'm so sorry..."

"I know," Charle said, simple and direct, and lifted piercing crimson eyes to Meru. "I know Rosie well enough to have a fair idea of what happened, and nothing you did or didn't do could have changed her decision."

Guaraha tightened his arm around his fiancée, hoping to provide whatever small comfort he could. Meru sniffled audibly, and asked, with the quiet tones death brought around itself, "Are you looking for their--for them? Because I..."

But Charle shook her head wearily. "Rose and Zieg were the primary cause of this explosion, I traced the residue. Their bodies are gone. Fitting, maybe. But their Dragoon Spirits, they may be intact, I was hoping...I won't let..." Anger pricked through the shroud of grief. "The Spirits I lost track of have done enough damage, I won't let anyone use Rose's power for ill. Not when it's all I have left of her."

Meru nodded sharply, and Guaraha could feel instant agreement stiffening her spine with the same rage at the very thought of the Spirits being misused. "I'll help you, Charle, we'll find them," she promised, all heartfelt sincerity, "everyone will want to help."

Guaraha felt torn, unable to disagree with the statement and unwilling to keep the Dragoons and Shana out here any longer. There had to be some properly tactful way to suggest to Charle that none of the warriors--including Meru--was really up to long treks at the moment. Trouble was Meru would never agree with him, and this was hardly an appropriate time to start a fight.

He'd barely gotten the dilemma sorted out, without any glimmer of a solution, when the Ularan leader offered him a hint of a smile, her eyes penetrating. "Thank you for the offer, Meru," Charle said, "but I think the search should wait until we're all more rested. Besides, my people would never forgive me if I kept them out of this. I'll bring you all home, first, and speak to Miata."

Relieved, Guaraha thought to ask, diffidently, "Will you be able to take us all? I'm sure everyone would be happy to have something to do to help, you could just take Shana and Dart and send them back for the rest of us."

Charle shook her head ruefully. "Ever since I allowed Ulara to slip back into the ordinary flow of time, I have had more magic to spare than I know what to do with. And now it seems I won't be using it in battle at all. Trust me, Guaraha, dear, I am well capable of the teleport."

"You couldn't send us anywhere before," Meru noted, sounding fascinated, "did it take _that_ much power to keep Ulara preserved?"

The ancient Wingly released a sigh. "That and more," she murmured. "It has been my only focus for five thousand years now, Miata and the others took on everything else." Guaraha watched her realize how tightly she had gripped her skirts, carefully unclench her hands and shake the wrinkles out of the fabric as though wishing she could shake the memories away as well. "I couldn't let it go, every minute counted, and it wasn't a spell I could anchor, not for so many people, for so long, I had to hold it myself, every year it took more effort...objects are easy to keep in stasis, but keeping everyone living and unchanging at the same time, that was..." A shaky breath, and Charle turned a wry smile toward the younger Winglies again. "Well. It was necessary, and it is over. I ought not to be wasting time, my apologies. Shall we go?"

Her wings had hummed to life and carried her some distance upward before Guaraha came up with any sort of response, by which point it was easier simply to go after her. He exchanged a worried look with Meru as they lit their wings to follow. All the Ularan Winglies he'd worked with held Charle Frahma in a kind of respectful awe, which he supposed was only natural, but which would be absolutely useless as far as comforting the leader in her time of grief.

"It's going to hit them hard, all the Ularans," he murmured, for Meru's ears only, remembering his despairing encounter with Miata. "After ten thousand years...I can't imagine..."

She was watching Charle, a bright spark aiming unerringly for where they'd left the Dragoons. "It's not fair." A low, bitter tone. "If anyone ever deserved peace and a chance for happiness, it's Rose. All that time, for a world that hated her, and now she's dead, just when it's over...it's not fair, Guaraha..."

He pulled her closer, silent, fervently grateful that she was alive to mourn her friend, fumbling for words to make sense of the tragedy. "She's at peace now, she and Zieg together," he said at last, halting and slow, "and...after all she went through, Meru, I'm not sure she would have found peace any other way."

Her reluctant nod brushed his face with silky hair, and he rested his chin gently by her ribboned ponytail, the smoke and sweat that hung about her from the long battle only making him more aware of how lucky he was. She sighed, a choked sniffle, and whispered, "I just wish she'd gotten the chance to try."

"Me, too," he agreed, heartfelt. The world had gotten out of this with astonishingly few casualties, all told, but that didn't make the deaths any easier to take.

Charle had reached the area where the Dragoons waited long before Guaraha and Meru managed to catch up with her, and she was arranging them around her briskly in preparation for the teleport. The smile she threw them was fleeting and brittle as glass, making it clear they'd be wiser not to comment in front of everyone. "Stand there," she instructed them firmly, indicating a space on the outer edge of the closely gathered group, "hold on to someone, and try not to move."

Kongol was situated immediately beside the Wingly leader, shifting awkwardly in an effort not to stand on anyone's feet. Shana and Dart were also in the center, the former Moon Child still too shaky to stand on her own. The rest of the Dragoons were arranged approximately in a circle, gripping one another by the shoulder or arm and trying not to look uncomfortable. Meru and Guaraha landed in the appropriate place to complete the ring, linking arms with Miranda and Albert respectively.

"I'm taking you direct to Deningrad," Charle informed them all. "Less complicated that way. Hold on, now. If I drop anyone along the way it'll be a long walk home."

* * *

The fire had died away from the distant cloud that marked the Moonfall, and Pahlan watched it for any sign that the world might be about to end, wondering darkly if there would be any warning before it did. Anything he could do, to fight, or just time to know that he had utterly failed.

He felt Setie shiver beside him, and drew her into what feeble protection he could offer, wrapping his arms around her trim waist. The wind was chill off the glacier, and neither of them had stopped for a coat. The Ularans had taken up their precisely defined positions in and around the Crystal Palace; the citizens of Deningrad, with commendable fortitude, lined the streets of the city in an approximation of calm, waiting for their Queen to give them direction. Most carried makeshift weapons of some kind, in case what came could be fought by mortal means.

Everything was as ready as it could be, and he had found himself unconsciously drawn to the same balcony Setie had chosen to face the fallen Moon.

Another gust of wind moaned through the newly repaired crystal, and his Human fiancée shivered again. Pahlan sighed, gave up on hoarding his magic for the end--like it would make any difference at all--and wrapped a shield of warm air about them both with a softly spoken word. He could defend her from cold, if nothing else.

She relaxed marginally in his arms, gaze still fixed in the distance, folding her hands over his at her waist. "Thanks, Pahlan."

"Least I can do," he murmured back.

Silence, and the wailing wind. He wished it would stop making that kind of noise. Like the world knew what was coming, and already mourned the loss. "Where did Sister Luanna get to?" he asked, out of desperation for small talk that didn't revolve around imminent death. He hadn't seen the dark-haired Human since the distant explosion.

Unexpectedly, Setie chortled at the question. "Following my good example, I expect," she replied, as close to merry as anyone had been this last half-hour. "I saw her with Halin."

Pahlan felt his eyebrows go up. "Luanna and Halin?"

Setie half-turned in his arms to offer a quick grin, her blue cap falling to the floor unnoticed. "I thought you knew. Niama certainly does."

"Niama knows a lot of things that aren't true," he felt obliged to point out. "Are you sure?"

"Not_positive_," she admitted. "Luanna hasn't said. But ever since she got him out of that coma, or whatever you call it, they've barely been apart. And I know my sister." A thoughtful pause. "I don't know what Mother's going to say, Luanna and Wink and I all three in love with Winglies."

Pahlan shifted, with a twinge of unease that wasn't quite guilt. "Wink?" he asked cautiously.

The Third Sacred Sister had not only agreed to come visit Lloyd in the clinic, she had gone about it with an urgency that had Pahlan teleporting her there directly, never mind that Lloyd was still technically a prisoner. Vielan had gone into unsuccessfully hidden fits of giggles at the injured Wingly's shock. Pahlan just hoped no one thought he'd kidnapped the Human.

Setie nodded absently, unaware of all this. "She's with Lloyd, I heard it from Rynal. Vielan was supposed to be at the third station with him, but when he went to get her she said she couldn't leave Wink and Lloyd unchaperoned. I'm glad Wink got a chance to see him, before..." A weary shrug.

He sighed agreement, burying his nose in the sweet scent of her hair and casting about for something else to keep both their minds off the dark cloud in the distance. What came out, unexpectedly, was, "Do you know how to cut hair?"

It was distracting enough that Setie turned away from the Moonfall entirely, blinking up at him with a frown. "Yes, actually, I was curious and Felicia showed me how--why?"

"Could you cut mine?"

She stared at him for a long moment, sapphire eyes wide. "I--I do have scissors, in my pocket, they're Lenita's...are you sure, Pahlan? Your brother..." They'd had that whole conversation; the peculiar style of his hair was due to Sacan's idea of what was proper for Wingly warriors, and Pahlan hadn't been ready to give up that reminder of him, despite what he'd done.

But he nodded, with a smile. "I can't think of a better time to make a fresh start." Plus he'd finally chosen the ancient Winglies he wanted to pattern himself after, and none of Charle's people wore their hair to resemble an onion. Sacan had been wrong, terribly, tragically wrong, and for all that he loved his brother still, he would not allow the prejudiced Wingly's attitudes to influence his life any further.

Setie took a shaky breath, peering critically at his hair. "It's going to get all over everything if it's not a little damp first," she commented, calmer now. "Let me see..."

"I can make sure it doesn't," he assured her, kneeling so she could reach easily. He raised a hand to the point where his hair gathered, and hesitated in spite of his decision. He shut his eyes and released the tiny spell, letting his hair flop down around his shoulders.

Setie's fingers combed gently through, painlessly--a useful side effect of the spell prevented tangles. "Okay," she said softly, "how short do you want it?"

He didn't want anyone to think he'd purposely copied them. "Whatever you think, Setie."

A whisper of a sigh, as she paused. "Right."

The slow snip of the blades by his ears, and the weight falling away--how could hair possibly weigh so much? A tiny brush of his magic was enough to call the falling strands together in his hand, when they were already soaked with its familiar feel. He closed his eyes, focusing on Setie's hands and not on the oncoming clouds, and hoping there would be a chance for Guaraha to stare at him in surprise at the change--for Meru to laugh at him, the bell-like laughter he remembered from when she and Tiala had been carefree children. If they survived. If they weren't already dead. _Please let them come home safe..._

He slowly rolled the strands of hair between his fingers, twisting them together. The faint spark of an idea lit, and he smiled, sending another surge of magic to the responsive material.

"There!" Setie announced, sounding well satisfied. "I'm done, Pahlan, I hope you'll like it."

Pahlan turned a warm smile to her. "I'm sure it's very fitting. I thought you might want to keep this..."

Tentatively, she accepted the shimmering platinum-colored cord, examined it. "You made this, out of...? I didn't see...this is beautiful, Pahlan!" At once, she twisted it around her wrist and tied it off, with all the delight of a child in her face.

He felt his new hairstyle. It was considerably shorter than was traditional for Winglies, more along the lines of what he'd seen on young Human men, which was about what he'd expected. Pahlan climbed to his feet, feeling oddly lightened, ready to face whatever came with some hope of surviving it. The blue hat still lay forlornly on the balcony, and he scooped it up and offered it back to her. Setie took it absently, rubbing the velvety material with her thumb as her eyes strayed.

Together, they looked out at the distant cloud again, good humor fading. It looked to Pahlan as though the darkness had dissipated and spread a little, and he wasn't sure whether to take that as a good sign or not.

Against the background hum of the spells in the aligned crystal, Pahlan suddenly felt the pulse of a teleportation spell--he had become far more used to identifying these since the Ularans had shown up, with their penchant for teleporting everywhere. But this one seemed stronger somehow, nearly up to the level of a long-range device, and Charle Frahma was the only person he knew who could manage that here, which meant at least some of the defenders were _alive_!

Except, he thought, with a cold shock, that there was another Frahma out there, or so Miata had said, pale and tight-lipped, reporting that Charle had felt Rose die. The former Emperor, admittedly more powerful than Charle even before this end-of-the-world business, and if he managed to get _inside_ the palace, where there were so few defenses...

"Pahlan?" He finally felt Setie's increasingly urgent tugs on his sleeve. "What's wrong? What's happening?"

"Stay here," he instructed her firmly. "It's an incoming teleport, I hope it's Charle but it might be unfriendly--I'm going to check it out. I'll come and get you the moment I know, it won't take but a second."

Reluctantly, she let go of his arm and stepped back, one hand clutching at the pendant that was his pledge-gift as though for comfort. "Be careful!" It was clearly an order, not a request, but her heart was in her eyes. "Be safe, Pahlan, I love you..."

"I'll be right back," Pahlan promised, unwilling to say anything that sounded like a good-bye, and sprinted toward the stairs and in the general direction of the teleport. He couldn't pinpoint it by the feel, but since they were in the Crystal Palace, _up_ was clear enough, there wasn't much above him. And it was close.

The sense had flared and faded before he reached it, dashing up the newly repaired steps to the former throne room. It had become the focal point for the structure, and the place where the Winglies with the strongest magic and most control were supposed to be--which, with Charle gone, was Miata and Caron, and two other Ularans whose names he didn't know. And, as Human representative, Queen Theresa, who had stubbornly refused to stay somewhere that would be less of a target with the argument that her people needed to know she was helping to protect them.

Pahlan stopped in front of the door, heart pounding in his throat, and listened. A confusion of voices met him, too many to pick out their words, but the tones of relief were unmistakable.

He opened the door a crack, new hope rising. The Dragoons had returned, and the golden-haired First Sacred Sister was caught firmly in Queen Theresa's embrace while Meru and Guaraha, his arm about her shoulders and hers about his waist, chatted to Caron and the Human in the green cape. The black-haired Rose was missing, but the rest, unbelievably--Pahlan felt his smile spreading uncontrollably as he flung himself into a teleport back to where he'd left Setie.

His fiancée was pacing restlessly on the balcony, blue cap twisted in her hands, but she ran to meet him even before the white light of the teleport had faded, quick to see his joy, blue eyes mirroring it hopefully. "Pahlan! Is it--?"

"Charle brought your sister and the other Dragoons home!" he reported swiftly, and caught her as she leaped into his arms with an exultant cry. There seemed no point in bothering with the stairs, not now, so he moved them both to the upper room in flickering light.

Setie seemed to be expecting this, as the sudden change in location didn't keep her from instantly darting to greet her long-absent sister. "Miranda!" she called, "Miranda, you're safe!"

As Setie hadn't released hold of his hand, Pahlan found himself drawn toward the golden-haired archer, while she turned to meet the younger Human with a weary smile. "It's good to see you again, Setie. I hear Deningrad's been busy while we were away."

"Yes, with the rebuilding and all," Setie agreed, "but, Miranda, I want you to meet my fiancé!"

The Dragoon's expression went suddenly a great deal colder, and she studied him with a flat, dangerous glance. By looks alone Pahlan had no trouble at all believing that this Human could defeat Melbu Frahma, and was uneasily certain that she recognized him from his ill-considered attack on the Dragoons. "_Is_ he, now."

Setie huffed a sigh. "Don't look like that, Miranda, he got Mother's permission and everything, you don't know what's happened here."

"Obviously not," she agreed, too calmly, ice-blue eyes not leaving Pahlan. "Why don't you introduce us, then."

The other Dragoons, one by one, had heard or sensed their healer's tension, and it felt to Pahlan as though every stare in the room was focused on him. Setie noticed it, too, but she only squeezed his hand, raised her voice a bit to be sure everyone could hear, and announced, "This is Pahlan Bardel, and he and I are going to get married in three years."

A kind of stunned silence dropped into the room like a stone. Pahlan didn't look away from Miranda. "I know you don't trust me, but I'd die before I let anything happen to Setie," he stated, keeping his voice level and hoping no one could hear in it just how nervous the woman made him.

Thankfully, most of the Dragoons were staying out of it, though he could feel them watching with puzzled interest. Pahlan supposed they figured Miranda didn't need help dealing with him. They were probably right.

Meru was never shy of breaking into others' conversations, though. "_Bardel_?" she exclaimed, approaching him with wide eyes before the First Sacred Sister had a chance to respond. "But you said--I thought--You always...What have you done to your _hair_?"

This broke the tension rather neatly. Behind her, Guaraha was trying very hard not to chuckle; it turned his face a variety of interesting shapes and finally came out as a strangled cough. The Human with gray-streaked black hair, standing near the Giganto, made no such effort, throwing his head back with an unrestrained laugh. Grins broke out all around the room, some more successfully hidden than others, and even Miranda quirked a faint involuntary smile.

The Blue Sea Dragoon glared at them all indiscriminately, and hurried on, with no increase in tactfulness, "I only meant that from everything you said you're the last person I'd expect to marry a Human, Bardel, what happened?"

"Four weeks in probation with your fiancée happened," he said wryly. "He's as stubborn as you are--and sneakier. Then we all thought the world was ending, and I met Setie."

Meru shook her head. "What you said, though...Tiala..." Guilt and sorrow flickered across her expressive features, plainly visible.

Pahlan flushed, remembering his confrontation with the Dragoons, and his not wholly rational accusations. He'd hoped to have this talk in private, but Meru apparently wasn't going to let it drop, and he couldn't put it off when she so clearly needed to hear it. "I have to apologize for what I said to you," he told the Wingly girl. "You never meant anything to happen to...to my sister." His voice still broke at the memory of Tiala's death, and it took a moment before he could continue, "I was wrong to blame you, or your Human friends. I hope you'll forgive me."

Her eyes shimmered with tears, but her face was set with determination. "She deserves justice. I promised you I'd settle the matter, and I will, Bardel, I'll help you find whoever did it."

A loud and totally unexpected chorus of agreements and identical pledges went up around the room, jerking Pahlan's head up in shock. Every one of the Dragoons had instantly supported Meru's declaration, as had Guaraha, Setie, Miata, and Caron. Even Charle Frahma, who ought to have a perfect right to be caught up in her own issues now if anyone ever had, backed up Meru's pledge with a quiet, "Ulara will help."

Queen Theresa, too dignified to add to the clamor, nevertheless inclined her head to Pahlan once the general noise was over and agreed, "I will put every resource the country can spare on the matter of your sister. An unsolved crime like this is a poor foundation for our alliance."

Overwhelmed, Pahlan opened his mouth to respond, and found that the lump in his throat prevented speech. It gave him a strange feeling, warm and solid in his chest--he wasn't used to that, but he liked it. "Thank you," he managed at last, ducking his head with an intense feeling of shame at how little he deserved this. "Thank you all."

* * *

The second speech Queen Theresa made with the assistance of Wingly magic was far more cheerful than the first, and with several powerful Ularans fueling it, Guaraha suspected people could probably have heard it as far as the Forest if they'd been listening. The gathering at the palace became more popular at once, as virtually everyone who had any reason to enter the palace tried to get a look at the returned heroes. It turned into a party almost as quickly; the impromptu fireworks were Niama's idea, and food began arriving from any number of Deningrad's citizens who took out their worry in cooking. The music was probably also Niama's idea, but Guaraha didn't recognize whose magic was boosting its volume.

The Dragoons themselves, too weary and grief-stricken to enjoy the celebration, slipped off one by one, aided and abetted by various Ularans who sympathized entirely. Guaraha caught a glimpse of Caron speaking with Albert, and realized from the surge of magic around them as they teleported away that she'd taken the Human king with her directly to Fletz--to Princess Emille, Meru gleefully informed him.

He didn't pay much attention after that, because he and Meru had the benefit of wings to slip away themselves, and they had years of catching up to do.

Author's Note: Weddings in the epilogue, but who knows if I'll ever finish it--you all deserve this much of an ending, after putting up with me for so long! Please review, and thanks so much for reading!


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